N f. 







,^>'. 



KO^.,/°,.-*,H 






"'tJ- 



</','; 











%■%'■ 



^^ .^v^^ 













8 I \ 



^.% 












■'^'- 






0^^ 



o5 -n^ 









,0^^ 






■•O' 



a 0^ 



^-^-.^ / %, 



-^A V* 



,00. 



■/ >' 



^^ ^^•. .V, . 






IRVING'S WOLFERT'S ROOST. 

RIVERSIDE EDITION. 
WITH VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE. 



WOLFEHTS KOOST 



BY WASHINGTON IRVING 




NEW YORK 

(;p.?u-fnaTn. Hurd and Houghton 



"WOLFERT'S ROOST 
iND OTHER PAPERS, 



Koto first ©oUcctrt 



liY 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 



AUTHOE'S REVISED EDITION 



NEW YORK: 

G. P. PUTNAM AND SON, 661 Broadway 

Ori'o.siiK lioNi) Stkkkt. 

18G8. 



Ai 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 

George P. Putnam, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 

of New York 






RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

8TERE0TTPED AND PRINTED B 

H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 




CONTENTS. 

— ♦— 

FAOS 

Wolfert's Roost . ... 5 

The Birds of Spring 30 

The Creole Village 38 

mouktjoy . . . . . . . . . 50 

The Bermudas 109 

The Three Kings of Bermuda .... 119 

The Widow's Ordeal 126 

The Kmight of Malta 144 

The Grand Prior of Minorca .... 147 

"A Time of Unexampled Prosperity" . 1G8 

The Great Mississippi Bubble 172 

Sketches in Paris in 1825. — The Parisian Hote 1 215 

My French Neighbor 219 

The Englishman at Paris 222 

r English and French Character 226 

The Tuileries and Windsor Castle ... 230 

The Field of Waterloo 235 

Paris at the Restoration 238 

A Contented Man 245 

Broek: the Dutch Paradise .... 253 

Guests from Gibbet Island 262 

The Early Experiences of Ralph Ringwood 279 



iv CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

The Seminoles 325 

Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black Men 330 
The Conspiracy" of Neamathla .... 333 

The Count Van Horn .343 

Don Juan: a Spectral Research . . . 562 
Legend of the Engulphed Convent . . . 376 

The Phantom Island 384 

The Adalantado of the Seven Cities . . .387 

Recollections of the Alhambra . . . 412 

The Abencerrage 416 





WOLFERT'S ROOST. 




CHRONICLE I. 

^BOUT five-ancl-twenty miles from the 
ancient and renowned city of Manliat- 
tan, formerly called New Amsterdam, 
and vulgarly called New York, on the eastern 
bank of that expansion of the Hudson known 
jimong Dutch mariners of yore as the Tappan 
Zee, being in fact the great Mediterranean Sea of 
the New Netherlands, stands a little, old-foshioned 
stone mansion, all made up of gable ends, and as 
full of anjrles and corners as an old cocked hat. 



It is said. 



fact, to have been modelled after 



the cocked hat of Peter the Headstrong, as the 
Escurial was modelled after the gridiron of the 
blessed St. Lawrence. Though but of small di- 
mensions, yet, like many small people, it is of 
mighty spirit, and values itself greatly on its an- 
tiquity, being one of the oldest edifices, for its size, 
in the whole country. It claims to be an an(;ient 
seat of empire, — I may rather say an empire in 
itself, — and like all empires, great and small, has 
had its grand historical epochs. In speaking of 
this doughty and valorous little pile, 1 shall call 
It by its usual appellation of "The Roost"; 



6 WOLFERT S ROOST. 

though that is a name given to it in modern days, 
since it became the abode of the white man. 

Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that re- 
mote region commonly called the fabulous age, in 
which vulgar fact becomes mystified and tinted 
up with delectable fiction. The eastern shore of 
the Tappan Sea was inhabited in those days by 
an unsophisticated race, existing in all the sim- 
plicity of nature ; that is to say, they lived by 
hunting and fishing, and recreated themselves 
occasionally with a little tomahawking and scalp- 
ing. Each stream that flows down from the hills 
into the Hudson had its petty sachem, who ruled 
over a hand's-breadth of forest on either side, and 
had his seat of government at its mouth. The 
chieftain who ruled at the Roost was not merely 
a great warrior, but a medicine-man, or prophet, 
or conjurer, for they all mean the same thing in 
Indian parlance. Of his fighting propensities evi- 
dences still remain, in various arrow-heads of 
flint, and stone battle-axes, occasionally digged up 
about the Roost ; of his wizard powers we have 
a token in a spring which wells up at the foot of 
the bank, on the very margin of the river, which, 
it is said, was gifted by him with rejuvenating 
powers, something like the renov/ned Fountain 
of Youth in the Floridas, so anxiously but vainly 
sought after by the veteran Ponce de Leon. This 
story, however, is stoutly contradicted by an old 
Dutch raatter-of fact tradition, which declares that 
the spring in question was smuggled over from 
Holland in a churn, by Fennnetie Van Blarconi, 
wife of Goosen Garret Van Blarconi, one of the 



WOLFERVS ROOST. 7 

first settlers, and that she took it up by night, 
unknown to her husband, from beside their farm- 
house near Rotterdam ; being sure she should 
find no water equal to it in the new country ; — • 
and she was right. 

The wizard sachem had a great passion for dis- 
cussing territorial questions, and settling boun- 
dary lines ; in other words, he had the spirit of 
annexation. This kept him in continual feud 
with the neighboring sachems, each of whom stood 
up stoutly for his hand-breadth of territory ; so 
that there is not a petty stream nor rugged hill 
in the neighborhood that has not been the subject 
of long talks and hard battles. The sachem, 
however, as has been observed, was a medicine- 
man as well as warrior, and vindicated his claims 
by arts as well as arms ; so that, by dint of a 
little hard fighting here, and hocus-pocus (or di- 
plomacy) there, he managed to extend his boun- 
dary line from field to field and stream to stream, 
vintil it brought him into collision with the power- 
ful sachem of Sing- Sing.* Many were the sharp 
conflicts between these rival chieftains for the 
sovereignty of a winding valley, a favorite hunt- 
ing-ground watered by a beautiful stream called 
the Pocantico. Many were the ambuscades, sur- 
prisals, and deadly onslaughts that took place 

* A corruption of the old Indian name, 0-sin-sing. Some 
have rendered it, O-sin-soni^, or 0-siiig-soiig, in token of its 
being a great market-town, where anything may be had for 
a mere song. Its present melodious alteration to Sing-Sing is 
said to liave been made in compliment to a Yankee singing- 
master, who tau.ght the inhabitants the art of singing through 
the nose. 



8 WOLFERTS ROOST: 

among its fastnesses, of which it grieves me much 
that I cannot pursue the details, for the gratifica- 
tion of those gentle but bloody-minded readers, 
of both sexes, who delight in the romance of the 
tomahawk and scalping-knife. Suffice it to say, 
that the wizard chieftain was at length victorious, 
though his victory is attributed, in Indian tra- 
dition, to a great medicine, or charm, by which 
he laid the sachem of Sing-Sing and his warriors 
asleep among the rocks and recesses of the valley, 
where they remain asleep to the present day, with 
their bows and war-clubs beside them. This was 
the origin of that potent and drowsy spell, which 
still prevails over the valley of the Pocantico, 
and which has gained it the well-merited appella- 
tion of Sleepy Hollow. Often, in secluded and 
quiet parts of that valley, where the stream is 
overhung by dark woods and rocks, the plough- 
man, on some calm and sunny day, as he shouts 
to his oxen, is surprised at hearing faint shouts 
from the hill-sides in reply ; being, it is said, the 
spell-bound warriors, who half start from their 
rocky couches and grasp their weapons, but sink 
to sleep again. 

The conquest of the Pocantico was the last tri- 
umph of the wizard sachem. Notwithstanding 
all his medicines and charms, he fell in battle, in 
attempting to extend his boundary line to the 
east, so as to take in the little wild valley of the 
Sprain ; and his grave is still shown, near the 
banks of that pastoral stream. He left, however, 
a great empire to his successors, extending along 
the Tappan Sea, from Yonkers quite to Sleepy 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 9 

Hollow, and known in old records and maps by 
the Indian name of Wicquaes-Keck. 

The wizard sachem was succeeded by a line 
of chiefs of whom nothing remarkable remains 
on record. One of them was the very individual 
on whom master Hendrick Hudson and his mate 
Robert Juet made that sage experiment gravely 
recorded by the latter, in the narrative of the dis- 
covery. 

" Our master and his mate determined to try 
some of the cheefe men of the country, whether 
they had any treacherie in them. So they took 
them down into the cabin, and gave them so much 
wine and aqua vitoe, that they were all very mer- 
rie ; one of them had his wife with him, which 
sate so modestly as any of our countrywomen 
would do in a strange place. In the end, one of 
them was drunke ; and that was strange to them, 
for they could not tell how to take it." * 

How far master Hendrick Hudson and his 
worthy mate carried their experiment with the 
sachem's wife, is not recorded ; neither does the 
curious Robert Juet make any mention of the 
after consequences of tins grand moral test ; tra- 
dition, however, affirms that the sachem, on land- 
ing, gave his modest spouse a hearty rib-roasting, 
according to the connubial discipline of the abo- 
riginals ; it farther affirms that he remained a 
hard drinker to the day of his death, trading away 
all his lands, acre by acre, for aqua vitge ; by 
which means the Roost and all its domains, from 
Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, came, in the regular 
* See Juet's Journal, Purchas' Pilfframs. 



10 WOLFERVS ROOST. 

course of trade, and by right of purchase, intc 
the possession of the Dutchmen. 

The worthy goverinnent of the New Nether- 
lands was not suffered to enjoy this grand acqui- 
sition unmolested. In the year 1654, the losel 
Yankees of Connecticut, those swapping, bar- 
gaining, squatting enemies of the Manhattoes, 
made a daring inroad into this neighborhood, 
and founded a colony called Westchester, or, as 
the ancient Dutch records term it, Vest Dorp, in 
the right of one Thomas Pell, who pretended to 
have purchased the whole surrounding country 
of the Indians, and stood ready to argue their 
claims before any tribunal of Christendom. 

This happened during the chivalrous reign of 
Peter Stuyvesant, and roused the ire of that 
gunpowder old hero. Without waiting to discuss 
claims and titles, he pounced at once upon the 
nest of neftirious squatters, carried off twenty-five 
of them in chains to the Manhattoes ; nor did he 
stay his hand, nor give rest to his wooden leg, 
until he had driven the rest of the Yankees back 
into Connecticut, or obliged them to acknowledge 
allegiance to their High Mightinesses. In re- 
venge, however, they introduced the plague of 
witchcraft into the province. This doleful mal- 
ady broke out at Vest Dorp, and would have 
spread throughout the country had not the Dutch 
farmers nailed horse-shoes to the doors of their 
houses and barns, sure protections against witch- 
craft, many of which remain to the present day. 

The seat of empire of the wizard sachem now 
came into the possession of Wolfert Acker, one 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 11 

of the privy councillors of Peter Stuyvesant. He 
was a worthy, but ill-starred man, whose aim 
through life had been to live in peace and quiet. 
For this he had emigrated from Holland, driven 
abroad by family feuds and wrangling neighbors. 
He had warred for quiet through the fidgety 
i-eign of William the Testy, and the fighting reign 
of Peter the Headstrong, sharing in every brawl 
and rib-roasting, in his eagerness to keep the 
peace and promote public tranquillity. It was 
his doom, in fact, to meet a head-wind at every 
turn, and be kept in a constant fume and fret by 
the perverseness of mankind. Had he served on 
a modern jury, he would have been sure to have 
eleven unreasonable men opposed to him. 

At the time when the province of the New 
Netherlands was wrested from the domination of 
their High Mightinesses by the combined forces 
of Old and New England, Wolfert retired in high 
dudgeon to this fastness in the wilderness, with 
the bitter determination to bury himself from the 
world, and live here for the rest of his days in 
peace and quiet. In token of that fixed purpose, 
he inscribed over his door (his teeth clinched at 
the time) his favorite Dutch motto, " Lust in 
Rust" (pleasure in quiet). The mansion was 
thence called Wolfert's Rust (Wolfert's Rest), 
but by the uneducated, who did not understand 
Dutch, Wolfert's Roost ; probably from its quaint 
cockloft look, and from its having a weathercock 
perched on every gable. 

Wolfert's luck fellowed him into retirement. 
He had shut himself up from the world, but he 



12 WOLFERVS ROOST. 

had brought with him a wife, and if soon passed 
iuto a proverb througliout the neighborhood that 
the cock of the Roost was the most henpecked 
bird in the country. His house too was i-eputed 
to be harassed by Yankee witchcraft. When the 
weather was quiet everywhere else, the wind, it 
was said, would howl and whistle about the 
gables ; witches and wai-locks would whirl about 
upon the weathercocks, and scream down the 
chimneys ; nay, it was even hinted that Wolfert's 
wife was in league with the enemy, and used to 
ride on a broomstick to a witches' sabbath in 
Sleepy Hollow. This, however, was all mere 
scandal, founded perhaps on her occasionally flour- 
ishing a broomstick in the course of a curtain 
lecture, or raising a storm within doors, as terma- 
gant wives are apt to do, and against which 
sorcery horse-shoes are of no avail. 

Wolfert Acker died and was buried, but found 
no quiet even in the grave ; for if popular gossip 
be true, his ghost has occasionally been seen walk- 
ing by moonlight among the old gray moss-growp 
trees of his apple orchard. 



CHRONICLE II. 

The next period at which we find this venera- 
ble and eventful pile rising into importance, was 
during the dark and troublous time of the revo- 
lutionary war. It was the keep or stronghold of 
Jacob Van Tassel, a valiant Dutchman of the old 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 13 

stock of Van Tassels, who abound in Westchester 
County. The name, as origuially written, was 
Van Texel, being derived from the Texel in Hol- 
h\nd, whicli gave birth to that heroic line. 

The Roost stood in the very heart of what at 
that time was called the debatable ground, lying 
between the British and American lines. The 
British held possession of the city and island of 
New York ; while the Americans drew up to- 
wards the Highlands, holding their head-quarters 
at Peekskill. The intervening country from Cro- 
ton River to Spiting Devil Creek was the debat- 
able gi-ound in question, liable to be harried by 
friend and foe, like the Scottish borders of yore. 

It is a rugged region, full of fastnesses. A 
line of rocky hills extends through it like a back- 
bone, sending out ribs on either side ; but these 
rude hills are for the most part richly wooded, 
and enclose little fresh pastoral valleys watered 
by the Neperan, the Pocantico,* and other beau- 
tiful streams, along which the Indians built their 
wigwams in the olden time. 

* The Neperan, vulgarly called the Saw-Mill River, winds 
for many miles through a lovely valley, shrouded by groves, 
and dotted by Dutch farm-houses, and empties itself into the 
Hudson, at the ancient Dorp of Yonkers. The Pocantico, 
rising among woody hills, winds in many a wizard maze 
through the sequestered haunts of Sleepy Hollow. We owe 
it to the indefatigable researches of Mr. Knickekbockeh, 
that those beautiful streams are rescued from modern common- 
place, and reinvested with their ancient Indian names. The 
correctness of the venerable historian may be ascertained by 
reference to the records of the original Indian grants to the 
Herr Frederick Philipsen, preserved in the county clerk's 
office at White Plains. 



14 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these 
valleys, existed, in the time of which I am treat- 
ing, and indeed exist to the present day, a race 
of hard-headed, hard-handed, stout-hearted yeo- 
men, descendants of the primitive Nederlanders. 
Men obstinately attached to the soil, and neither 
to be fought nor bought out of their paternal 
acres. Most of them were strong Whigs through- 
out the war ; some, however, were Tories, or 
adherents to the old kingly rule, who considered 
the revolution a mere rebellion, soon to be put 
down by his majesty's forces. A number of 
these took refuge within the British lines, joined 
the military bands of refugees, and became pio- 
neers or leaders to foraging parties sent out from 
New York to scour the country and sweep off 
supplies for the British army. 

In a little while the debatable ground became 
hifested by roving bands, claiming from either 
side, and all pretending to redress wrongs and 
punish political offences ; but all prone in the 
exercise of their high functions — to sack hen- 
roosts, drive off cattle, and lay farm-houses under 
contribution ; such was the origin of two great 
orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the 
Cow Boys, fiimous in revolutionary story : the 
former fought, or rather marauded, under the 
American, the latter, under the British banner. 
In the zeal of service, both were apt to make 
blunders, and confound the property of friend and 
foe. Neither of them in the heat and hurry of a 
foray had time to ascertain the politics of a horse 
or cow, which they were driving off into captivity ; 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 15 

lior, when they wrung the neck of a rooster, did 
tliey trouble their heads whether he crowed for 
Congress or King George. 

To check these enormities, a confederacy was 
formed among the yeomanry who had sutfered 
from these maraudings. It was composed for the 
most part of farmers' sons, bold, hard-riding lads, 
well armed, and well mounted, and undertook to 
clear the country round of Skinner and Cow Boy, 
and all other border vermin ; as the Holy Broth- 
erhood in old times cleared Spain of the banditti 
which infested her highways. 

Wolfert's Roost was one of the rallying places 
of this confederacy, and Jacob Van Tassel one of 
its members. He was eminently fitted for the 
service ; stout of frame, bold of heart, and like 
his predecessor, the warrior sachem of yore, de- 
lighting in daring enterprises. He had an Indian's 
sagacity in discovering when the enemy was on 
the mai'aud, and in hearing the distant tramp of 
cattle. It seemed as if he had a scout on every 
hill, and an ear as quick as that of Fine Ear in 
the fairy tale. 

The foraging parties of tories and refugees 
had now to be secret and sudden in their forays 
into Westchester County ; to make a hasty maraud 
among the farms, sweep the cattle into a drove, 
and hurry down to the lines along the river road, 
or the valley of the Neperan. Before they were 
half-way down, Jacob Van Tassel, with the holy 
brotlu^rhood of Tarrytown, Petticoat Lane, and 
Sleepy Hollow, would be clattering at their heels. 
And now there would be a general scamper for 



16 WOLFERTS liOOSr. 

King's Bridge, the pass over Spiting Devil Creek, 
into the British lines. Sometimes the moss- 
troopers would be overtaken, and eased of part of 
their booty. Sometimes the whole cavalgada 
would urge its headlong course across the bridge 
with thundering tramp and dusty whirlwind- At 
such times their pursuers would rein up their 
steeds, survey that perilous pass with wary eye, 
and, wheeling about, indemnify themselves by 
foraging the refugee region of Morrisania. 

While the debatable land was liable to be thus 
harried, the great Tappan Sea, along which it 
extends, was likewise domineered over by the foe. 
British ships of war were anchored here and there 
in the wide expanses of the river, mere floating 
castles to hold it in subjection. Stout galleys 
armed with eighteen pounders, and navigated with 
sails and oars, cruised about like hawks, while 
row-boats made descents upon the land, and for- 
aged the country along shore. 

It was a sore grievance to the yeomanry along 
the Tappan Sea to behold that little Mediter- 
ranean ploughed by hostile prows, and the noble 
river of which they were so proud reduced to a 
state of thraldom. Councils of war were held 
by captains of market-boats and other river-craft, 
to devise ways and means of dislodging the ene- 
my. Here and there on a point of land extend- 
ing into the Tappan Sea, a mud work would be 
thrown up, and an old field-piece mounted, with 
which a knot of rustic artillerymen would fire 
'away for a long summer's day at some frigate 
dozing at anchor far out of reach ; and reliques 



WOLFERVS ROOST. 17 

of such works may still be seen overgrown with 
Aveeds and brambles, with peradventnre the half- 
buried fragment of a cannon which may have 
burst. 

Jacob Van Tfissel was a ])rominent man in 
these belligerent operations ; but he was prone, 
moi-eover, to carry on a petty warfare of his own 
for his individual recreation and refreshment. On 
a row of hooks above the fireplace of the Roost, 
reposed his great piece of ordnance, — a duck, or 
rather goose-gun, of unparalleled longitude, with 
wliich it was said he could kill a wild goose half 
way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, there are 
as many wonders told of this renowned gun, as 
of the enchanted weapons of classic story. When 
the belligerent feeling was strong upon Jacob, he 
would take down his gun, sally forth alone, and 
prowl along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, 
watching for hours together any ship or galley at 
anchor or becalmed, as a valorous mouser will 
watch a rat-hole. So sure as a boat approached 
the shore, bang went the great goose-gun, send- 
ing on board a shower of slugs and buck-shot ; 
And away scuttled Jacob Van Tassel through 
some woody ravine. As the Roost stood in a 
lonely situation, and might be attacked, he guarded 
against surprise by making loop-holes in the stone 
Avails, through which to fire upon an assailant, 
liis wife v/as stout-hearted as himself, and could 
load as tast as he could fire ; and his sister, Nochie 
Van Wurmer, a redoubtable widow, was a match, 
as he said, for the stoutest man in the country. 
Tims garrisoned, his little castle was fitted to 



18 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

stand a siege, and Jacob was the man to defend 
it to the last charge of powder. 

In the process of time the Roost became one 
of the secret stations, or lurking-places, of the 
Water Guard. This was an aquatic corps in the 
pay of government, organized to range the waters 
of the Hudson, and keep watch upon the move- 
ments of the enemy. It was composed of nauti- 
cal men of the river, and hardy youngsters of the 
adjacent country, expert at pulling an oar or 
handling a musket. They were provided with 
whale-boats, long and sharp, shaped like canoes, 
and formed to lie lightly on the water, and be 
rowed with great rapidity. In these they would 
lurk out of sight by day, in nooks and bays, and 
behind points of land, keeping a sharp look-out 
upon the British ships, and giving intelligence to 
head-quarters of any extraordinary movement. 
At night they rowed about in pairs, pulling 
quietly along with muffled oars, under shadow of 
the land, or gliding like spectres about frigates 
and guard-ships to cut off any boat that might 
be sent to sliore. In this way they were a 
source of constant uneasiness and alarm to the 
enemy. 

The Roost, as has been observed, was one 
of their lurking-places ; having a cove in front 
where their whale-boats could be drawn up out 
of sight, and Jacob Van Tassel being a vigilant 
ally, ready to take a part in any " scout or scrum- 
mage " by land or water. At this little warrior 
nest the hard-riding lads from the hills would 
hold considtations with the chivalry of the river, 



WOLFERrS ROOST. 19 

and liei-e were concerted divers of those daring: 
enterprises which resounded from Spiting Devil 
Ci'eek even unto Anthony's Nose. Here was 
concocted the midnight invasion of New York 
Island, and the coniiagration of Delancy's Tory 
mansion, which makes such a blaze in revolu- 
tionary history. Nay, more, if the traditions of 
the Roost may be credited, here was meditated, 
by Jacob Van Tassel and his compeers, a noctur- 
nal foray into New York itself, to surprise and 
carry off the British commanders, Howe and 
Clinton, and put a triumphant close to the war. 

There is no knowing whether this notable 
scheme might not have been carried into effect, 
had not one of Jacob Van Tassel's egres^ious ex- 
ploits along shore with his goose-gun, witli which 
he thought himself a match for anything, brought 
vengeance on his house. 

It so happened, that in the course of one of his 
solitary prowls he descried a British transport 
aground ; the stern swung toward shore within 
point-blank shot. The temptation was too great 
to be resisted. Bang ! went the great goose-gun, 
from tlie covert of the trees, shivering the cabin- 
windows and driving all hands forward. Bang ! 
bang ! the shots were repeated. The reports 
brought other of Jacob's fellow bush-fighters to 
the spot. Before the transport could bring a 
gun to bear, or land a boat to take revenge, she 
was soundly peppered, and the coast evacuated. 

Tiiis was the last of Jacob's triumphs. He 
fared like some heroic spider that has unwittingly 
ensnared a hornet to the utter ruin of his web. 



20 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

It was not long after the above exploit that he 
fell into the hands of the enemy in the course of 
one of his forays, and was carried away prisoner 
to New York. The Roost itself, as a pestilent 
rebel nest, was marked out for signal punishment. 
The cock of the Roost being captive, there was 
none to garrison it but his stout-hearted spouse, 
his redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, and 
Dinah, a strapping negro wench. An armed ves- 
sel came to anchor in front ; a boat full of men 
pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms ; that 
is to say, to mops, broomsticks, shovels, tongs, and 
all kinds of domestic weapons, — for unluckily the 
great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent 
with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence 
was made with that most potent of female weap- 
ons, the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost 
make a more vociferous outcry. It was all in 
vain. The house was sacked and plundered, fire 
was set to each corner, and in a few moments its 
blaze shed a baleful light far over the Tappan Sea. 
The invaders then pounced upon the blooming 
Laney Van Tassel, the beauty of the Roost, and 
endeavored to bear her off to the boat. But 
here was the real tug of war. The mother, the 
aunt, and the strapping negro wench, all flew to 
the rescue. The struggle continued down to the 
very *vater's edge, when a voice from the armed 
vessel at anchor ordered the spoilers to desist ; 
they relinquished their prize, jumped into their 
boats, and pulled off, and the heroine of the Roost 
escaped with a mere rumpling of her feathers. 
As to the stout Jacob himself, he was detained 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 21 

a prisoner in New York for tlie greater part of 
the war ; in the mean time the Roost remained a 
melancholy ruin, its stone walls and brick chim- 
neys alone standing, the resorts of bats and owls. 
Superstitious notions prevailed about it. None 
of the country people would venture alone at 
night down the rambling lane which led to it, 
overhung with trees, and crossed here and there 
by a wild wandering brook. The story went that 
one of the victims of Jacob Van Tassel's great 
goose-gun had been buried there in unconsecrated 
ground. 

Even the Tappan Sea in front was said to be 
haunted. Often in the still twilight of a summer 
evenhig, when the sea would be as glass, and the 
opposite hills would throw their purple shadows 
half across it, a low sound would be heard as of 
the steady,vigorous pull of oars, though not a boat 
was to be descried. Some might have supposed 
that a boat was rowed along unseen under the 
deep shadows of the opposite shores ; but the 
ancient traditionists of the neighborhood knew 
better. Some said it was one of the whale-boats 
of the old Water Guard, sunk by the British ships 
during the war, but now permitted to haunt its 
old cruising-grounds ; but the prevalent opinion 
connected it with the awful fate of Rambout Van 
Dam of graceless memory. He was a roistering 
Dutchman of S|)iting Devil, who in times long 
uast had navigated his boat alone one Satui'day 
the whole length of the Tappan Sea, to attend a 
quilting frolic at Kakiat, on the western shore. 
Here he had danced and drunk until midnight, 



22 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

when he entered his boat to return home. He 
was warned that he was on the verge of Sunday 
<norning ; but he pulled off nevertheless, swear- 
ng he would not land until he reached Spiting 
Devil, if it took him a month of Sundays. He 
was never seen afterwards ; but may be heard 
plying his oars, as above mentioned, — being the 
Flying Dutchman of the Tappan Sea, doomed to 
ply between Kakiat and Spiting Devil until the 
day of judgment. 



CHRONICLE III. 

The revolutionary war was over. The debat- 
able ground had once more become a quiet agri- 
cultural region ; the border chivalry had turned 
their swords into ploughshares, and their spears 
into pruning-hooks, and hung up their guns, only 
to be taken down occasionally in a campaign 
against wild pigeons on the hills, or wild ducks 
upon the Hudson. Jacob Van Tassel, whilome 
carried captive to New York, a flagitious rebel, 
had come forth from captivity a " hero of seventy- 
six." In a little while he sought the scenes of 
his former triumphs and mishaps, rebuilt th*^ 
Roost, restored his goose-gun to the hooks over 
the fireplace, and reared once more on high the 
glittering weathercocks. 

Years and years passed over the time-honored 
little mansion. The honeysuckle and the sweet- 
brier crept up its walls ; the wren and the Phoebe- 



WOLFE UTS ROOST. 23 

l)ird built under the eaves; it gradually became 
almost hidden among trees, through which it looked 
forth, as with half-shut eyes, upon the Tappan 
Sea. The Indian spring, fixmous in the days of 
the wizard sachem, still welled up at the bottom 
of the gi-een bank ; and the wild brook, wild as 
ever, came babbling down the ravine, and threw 
itself into the little cove where of yore the Water 
Guard harbored their whale-boats. 

Such was the state of the Roost many years 
since, at the time when Diedrich Knickerbocker 
came into this neighborhood, in the course of his 
researches among the Dutch families for materials 
for his immortal history. The exterior of the 
eventful little pile seemed to him full of promise. 
The crow-step gables were of the primitive archi- 
tecture of the province. The weathercocks which 
surmounted them had crowed in the glorious days 
of the New Netherlands. The one above the 
porch had actually glittered of yore on the great 
Vander Heyden palace at Albany. 

The interior of the mansion fulfilled its exter- 
nal promise. Here were records of old times ; 
documents of the Dutch dynasty, i-escued from the 
profane hands of the English by Wolfert Acker, 
when he retreated from New Amsterdam. Here 
he had treasured them up like buried gold, and 
here they had been miraculously preserved by 
St. Nicholas, at the time of the conflagration of 
the Roost. 

Here then did old Diedrich Knickerbocker take 
up his abode for a time, and set to work with 
•antiquarian zeal to decipher these precious docu- 



24 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

ments, which, like the lost books of Livy, had 
baffled the research of former historians ; and it 
is the facts drawn from these sources wliich give 
his work the preference, in point of accuracy, over 
every other history. 

It was during his sojourn in this eventful neigh- 
borhood that the historian is supposed to have 
picked up many of those legends, which have 
since been given by him to the world, or found 
among his papers. Such was the legend con- 
nected Avith the old Dutch Church of Sleepy 
Hollow. The Church itself was a monument of 
by-gone days. It had been built in tiie early 
times of the province. A tablet over the porUil 
bore the names of its founders, — Frederick Filip- 
son, a mighty man of yore, patroon of Yonkers, 
and his wife Katrina Van Courtland, of the Van 
Courtlands of Croton ; a powerful family con- 
nection, — with one foot resting on Spiting Devil 
Creek, and the other on the Croton River. 

Two weathercocks, with the initials of these 
illustrious personages, graced each end of the 
Chm-ch, one perched over the belfiy, the other over 
the chancel. As usual with ecclesiastical weather 
cocks, each pointed a different way ; and there 
was a pei-petual contradiction between them on 
all points of windy doctrine ; emblematic, alas 1 
of the Christian propensity to schism and con- 
troversy. 

In the burying-ground adjacent to the Church, 
reposed the earliest fathers of a wide rural neigh- 
borhood. Here families were garnei-ed together, 
side by side, in long platoons, in this last gather- 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 25 

ing place of kindred. With pious hand would 
Diedrich Knickerbocker tui'n down the weeds and 
brambles which had overgrown the tombstones, to 
decipher inscriptions in Dutch and English, of 
the names and virtues of succeeding generations 
of Van Tassels, Van Warts, and other historical 
worthies, with their portraitures faithfully carved, 
all bearing the family likeness to cherubs. 

The congregation in those days was of a truly 
rural character. City fashions had not as yet 
stole up to Sleepy Hollow. Dutch sun-boruiets 
and honest homespun still prevailed. Everything 
was in primitive style, even to the bucket of 
water and tin cup near the door in summer, to 
assuage the thirst caused by the heat of the 
weather or the drought of the sermon. 

The pulpit, with its wicTe-spreading sounding- 
board, and the communion-table, curiously carved, 
had each come from Holland in the olden time, 
before the arts had sufficiently advanced in the 
colony for such achievements. Around these on 
vSundays would be gathered the elders of the 
church, gray-headed men, who led the psalmody, 
and in whom it would be difficult to recognize tlie 
hard-riding lads of yore, who scoured the debata- 
ble land in the time of the revolution. 

The drowsy influence of Sleepy Hollow wius 
apt to breathe into this sacred edifice ; and now 
and then an elder might be seen with his hand- 
kerchief over his face to keep off the flies, and 
apparently listening to the dominie ; but really 
sunk into a summer slumber, lulled by the sultry 
notes of the locust from the neighboring trees. 



2G WOLFEllTS ROOST. 

And now a word or two about Sleepy Hollow, 
which many have rashly deemed a fanciful crea- 
tion, like the Lubberland of mariners. It was 
probably the mystic and dreamy sound of the 
name which first tempted the historian of the 
Manhattoes into its spellbound mazes. As he 
entered, all nature seemed for the moment to 
awake from its slumbers and break forth in grat- 
ulations. The quail whistled a welcome from 
the cornfield ; the loquacious cat-bird flew from 
bush to bush with restless wing proclaiming his 
approach, or perked inquisitively into his face as 
if to get a knowledge of his physiognomy. The 
woodpecker tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple- 
tree, and then peered round the trunk, as if ask- 
ing how he relished the salutation ; while the 
squirrel scampered along the fence, whisking his 
tail over his head by way of a huzza. 

Here reigned the golden mean extolled by 
poets, in which no gold was to be found and very 
little silver. The inhabitants of the Hollow were 
of the primitive stock, and had intermarried and 
bred in and in, from the earliest time of the prov- 
ince, never swarming far from the parent hive, 
but dividing and subdividing their paternal acres 
as they sw^armed. 

Here were small farms, each having its little 
portion of meadow and cornfield ; its orchard of 
gnarled and sprawling apple-trees ; its garden, in 
which the rose, the marigold, and hollyhock, grew 
sociably with the cabbage, the pea, and the pump- 
kin ; each had its low-eaved mansion redundant 
with white-headed children ; with an old hat 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 27 

nailed against the wall for the housekeeping wren ; 
the coop on tlie grass-plot, where the motherly 
hen eluckeel round with her vagrant brood : each 
had its stone well, with a moss-covered bucket 
suspended to the long balancing - pole, according 
to antediluvian hydraulics ; while within doors 
resounded the eternal hum of the spinning-wheel. 

Many were the great historical facts which the 
worthy Diedi'ich collected in these lowly man- 
sions, and patiently would he sit by the old Dutch 
housewives with a child on his knee, or a purring 
grimalkin on his lap, listing to endless ghost sto- 
ries spun forth to the humming accompaniment of 
the wheel. 

The delighted historian pursued his explora- 
tions fiir into the foldings of the hills where the 
Pocantico winds its wizard stream among the 
mazes of its old Indian haunts ; sometimes run- 
ning darkly in pieces of woodland beneath bal- 
ancing sprays of beech and chestnut ; sometimes 
sparkling between grassy borders in fresh, green 
intervales ; here and there receiving the tributes 
of silver rills which came whimpering down the 
hill-sides from their parent springs. 

In a remote part of the Hollow, where the 
Pocantico forced its way down rugged rocks, 
stood Carl's mill, the haunted house of the neigh- 
borhood. It was indeed a goblin-looking pile ; 
shattered and time-worn, dismal with clanking 
wheels and rushing streams, and all kinds of un- 
couth noises. A horse-shoe nailed to the door to 
keep oif witches, seemed to have lost its power ; 



28 WOLFERTS ROOST. 

for as Diedrich approached, an old negro thrust 
his head all dabbled with flour out of a hole 
above the water-wheel, and grinned and rolled 
his eyes, and appeared to be the very hobgoblin 
of the place. Yet this proved to be the great 
historic genius of the Hollow, abounding in that 
valuable information never to be acquired from 
books. Diedrich Knickerbocker soon discovered 
his merit. They had long talks together seated 
on a broken millstone, heedless of the water and 
the clatter of the mill ; and to his conference 
with that African sage many attribute the sur- 
prising, though true story, of Ichabod Crane and 
the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. We 
refrain, however, from giving farther researches 
of the historian of the Manhattoes during his 
sojourn at the Roost, but may return to them in 
future pages. 

Reader ! the Roost still exists. Time, which 
changes all things, is slow in its operations on a 
Dutchman's dwelling. The stout Jacob Van 
Tassel, it is true, sleeps with his fathers ; and 
his great goose-gun with him : yet his strong- 
hold still bears the impress of its Dutch origin. 
Odd rumors have gathered about it, as they are 
apt to do about old mansions, like moss and 
weather-stains. The shade of Wolfert Acker still 
walks his unquiet rounds at night in the orchard ; 
and a white figure has now and then been seen 
seated at a window and gazing at the moon, from 
a room in which a young lady is said to have 
died of love and green apples. 



WOLFERTS ROOST. 



29 



M(jmentos of the sojourn of Diedrich Knick- 
erbocker are still cherished at the Roost. His 
elbow-chair and antique wi'iting-desk maintain 
tlieir place in the room he occupied, and his 
old cocked-hat still hangs on a peg against the 
wall. 






THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

Y quiet residence in the country, aloof 
fi-om ftishion, politics, and the money- 
market, leaves me rather at a loss for 
occupation, and drives me occasionally to the 
study of nature, and other low pursuits. Hav- 
ing few neighbors, also, on whom to keep a 
watch, and exercise my habits of observation, I 
am fain to amuse myself with prying into the do- 
mestic concerns and peculiarities of the animals 
around me ; and during the present season have 
derived considerable entertainment from certain 
sociable little birds, almost the only visitors we 
have during this early part of the year. 

Those who have passed the winter in the coun- 
try are sensible of the delightful influences that 
accompany the earliest indications of spring ; and 
of these, none are more delightful than the first 
notes of the birds. There is one modest little 
sad-colored bird, much resembling a wren, which 
came about the house just on the skirts of win- 
ter, when not a blade of grass was to be seen, 
and when a few prematurely warm days had 
given a flattering foretaste of soft weather. He 
sang early in the dawning, long before sunrise, 
and late in the evening, just before the closing 
in of night, his matin and his vesper hymns. It 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 31 

is true he sang occsisionally throughout the day ; 
but at these still hours his song was more re- 
marked. He sat on a leafless tree, just before 
the window, and warbled forth his notes, few and 
simple, but singularly sweet, with something of a 
plaintive tone that heightened their effect. 

The first morning that he was heard was a 
joyous one among the young folks of my house- 
hold. The long, death-like sleep of winter was 
at an end ; nature was once more awakening ; 
they now promised themselves the immediate ap- 
pearance of buds and blossoms. I was reminded 
of the tempest-tossed crew of Columbus, when 
after their long dubious voyage the field-birds 
came singing round the ship, though still far at 
sea, rejoicing them with the belief of the imme- 
diate proximity of land. A sharp return of 
winter almost silenced my little songster, and 
dashed the hilarity of the household ; yet still he 
poured forth, now and then, a few plaintive notes, 
between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like 
gleams of sunshine between wintry clouds. 

I have consulted my book of ornithology in 
vain, to find out the name of this kindly little 
bird, who certainly deserves honor and fav^r far 
beyond his modest pretensions. He comes like 
the lowly violet, the most unpretending, but wel- 
comest of flowers, breathing the sweet promise of 
the early year. 

Another of our feathered visitors, who follow 
close upon the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or 
Pe-wee, or Phocbe-bird ; for he is called by each 
of these names, from a fancied resemblance to 



32 THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

the sound of his monotonous note. He is a so- 
ciable little being, and seeks the habitation of 
man. A pair of them have built beneath my 
porch, and have reared several broods there for 
two years past, — their nest being never disturbed. 
They arrive early in the spring, just when the 
crocus and the snow-drop begin to peep forth. 
Their first chirp spreads gladness through the 
house. " The Phoebe - birds have come ! " is 
heard on all sides ; they are welcomed back like 
members of the family, and speculations are made 
upon where they have been, and what countries 
they have seen, during their long absence. Their 
arrival is the more cheering, as it is pronounced 
by the old, weather-wise people of the counti-y 
the sure sign that the severe frosts are at an end, 
and that the gardener may resume his labors 
with confidence. 

About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so 
poetically yet truly described by Wilson. His 
appearance gladdens the whole landscape. You 
hear his soft warble in every field. He sociably 
approaches your habitation, and takes up his resi- 
dence in your vicinity. But why should I at- 
tempt to describe him, when I have Wilson's 
own graphic verses to place him before the 
reader ? 

" When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 

Green meadows and brown furrowed fields reappearing, 
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore, 

And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering; 
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing, 

When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
Oh then comes the bluebird, the herald of spring, 

And hail? with his warbliniis the charms of the season. 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 33 

" The loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring, 

Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm grows the 
weather; 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 

And spice-wood and sassafras budding together; 
Oh then to yoxxr gartlens, ye housewives, repair. 

Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure; 
The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air, 

That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure ! 

" He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree, 

The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossom; 
He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be, 

And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms; 
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours, 

The worms from the webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours, 

And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 

" The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train, 

Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him; 
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple strain. 

And leans on his spade to sun'^ey and to hear him. 
The slow, lingering schoolboys forget they '11 be chid, 

While gazmg intent, as he warbles before them 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red. 

That each little loiterer seems to adore him." 



The happiest bird of our spring, however, and 
one that rivals the European lark, in mj estima- 
tion, is the Bobolincon, or Bobolink, as he is 
commonly called. He arrives at that choice por- 
tion of our year, which, in this latitude, answers 
to the description of the month of May so often 
given by the poets. With us it begins about the 
middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle 
of June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to re- 
turn on its traces, and to blight the opening 



34 THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

beauties of the year ; and later than this begin 
the parching, and panting, and dissolving heats 
of summer. But in this genial interval, nature 
is in all her freshness and fragrance ; " the rains 
are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the 
earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and 
the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." The 
trees are now in their fullest foliage and brightest 
verdure ; the woods are gay with the clustered 
flowers of the laurel ; the air is perfumed by the 
sweetbrier and the wild rose ; the meadows ai-e 
enamelled with clover-blossoms ; while the young 
apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to swell, 
and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. 

This is the chosen season of revelry of the 
Bobolink. He comes amidst the pomp and fra- 
grance of the season ; his life seems all sensibility 
and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to 
be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and 
sweetest meadows, and is most in song when the 
clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost 
twig of a tree, or on some long, flaunting weed, 
and, as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours 
forth a succession of rich tinkling notes, — crowd- 
ing one upon another, like the outpouring melody 
of the skylark, and possessing the same rapturous 
character. Sometimes he pitches from the sum- 
mit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets 
upon the wing, and flutters tremulously down to 
the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his own 
music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his para- 
mour ; always in full song, as if he would win 
her by his melody ; and always with the same 
appearance of intoxication and delight. 



THE BIRDS iF SPRING. 35 

Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, 
the Bobolhik was the envy of my boyhood. He 
crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and the 
sweetest season of the year, when all nature called 
to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in 
every bosom ; but when I, luckless urchin ! was 
doomed to be mewed up, during the livelong day, 
in that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room. It 
seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me as he 
riew by in full song, and sought to taunt me with 
Ills happier lot. Oh, how I envied him ! No 
lessons, no task, no hateful school ; nothing but 
h(^liday frolic, green fields, and fine weather. Had 
I been then more versed in poetry, I might have 
addressed him in the words of Logan to the 
cuckoo, — 

" Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 
Thy sky is ever clear; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy note, 
No winter in thy year. 

" Oh! could I fly, I 'd fly with thee; 

We 'd make, on joyful wing, 

Our annual v-isit round the globe, 

Companions of the spring! " 

Further observation and experience have given 
me a different idea of this little feathered volupt- 
\iai-y, which I will venture to impart, for the 
iienefit of my schoolboy readers, who may regard 
him with the same unqualified envy and admira- 
tion which I once indulged. I have shown liim, 
only as I saw him at first, in what I may call the 
poetical part of his career, when he in a manner 



3r> THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoy- 
ments, and was a bird of music, and song, and 
taste, and sensibility, and refinement. While this 
lasted, he was sacred from injury ; the very school- 
boy would not fling a stone at him, and the merest 
rustic would pause to listen to his strain. But 
mark the difference. As the year advances, as 
the clover-blossoms disappear, and the spring fades 
into summer, he gradually gives up his elegant 
tastes and habits, doffs his poetical suit of black, 
assumes a russet dusty garb, and sinks to the 
gross enjoyments of common vulgar birds. His 
notes no longer vibrate on the ear ; he is stuffing 
himself with the seeds of the tall weeds on which 
he lately swung and chanted so melodiously. He 
has become a hon vivant, a gourmand ; with 
him now there is nothing like the "joys of the 
table." In a little while he grows tired of plain, 
homely fare, and is off on a gastronomical tour in 
quest of foreign luxuries. We next hear of him, 
with myriads of his kind, banqueting among th(! 
reeds of the Delaware ; and grown corpulent \\\\\\ 
good feeding. He has changed his name in trav- 
elling. Bobolincon no more, — he is the Reed-hird 
now, the much sought-for titbit of Pennsylvani.i 
epicures ; the rival in unlucky fame of the orio- 
lan ! Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! evei-y 
rusty firelock in the country is blazing away. lie 
sees his companions falling by thousands around 
him. 

Does he take warning and reform ? Alas, not 
he ! Incorrigible epicure ! again he wings his 
flight. The rice-swamps of the South vite him. 



77/ A- BIRDS OF SPRING. 37 

He goi'ges himself among them almost to burst- 
ing ; lie can scarcely fly for corpulency. He ha? 
once more changed his name, and is now the fa- 
mous Rice-bird of the Carolinas. 

Last stage of his career: behold him spitted, 
with dozens of his corpulent companions, and 
served up, a vaunted dish, on the table of some 
Southern gastronome. 

Such is the story of the Bobolink ; once spir- 
itual, musical, admired ; the joy of the meadows, 
and the favorite bird of Spring ; finally, a gross 
little sensualist, who expiates his sensuality in the 
Iju'der. His stoiy contains a moral worthy the 
attention of all little birds and little boys ; warn- 
ing them to keep to those refined and intellectual 
pursuits which raised him to so high a pitch of 
popularity during the early part of his career ; 
but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dis- 
sipijted indulgence which brought this mistaken 
little bird to an untimely end. 

Wliicli is all at present, from the well-wisher 
of little boys and little birds, 





THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

A SKETCH FROM A STEAMBOAT. 

[Firet published in 1837.] 

N travelling about our motley country, 
I am often reminded of Ariosto's ac- 

' count of the moon, in which the good 
paladin Astolpho found everything garnered up 
that had been lost on earth. So I am apt to 
imagine that many things lost in the Old World 
are treasured up in the New ; having been handed 
down from generation to generation, since the 
early days of the colonies. A European anti- 
quary, therefore, curious in his researches after 
the ancient and almost obliterated customs and 
usages of his country, would do well to put him- 
self upon the track of some early band of emi- 
grants, follow them across the Atlantic, and rum- 
mage among their descendants on our shores. 

In the phraseology of New England might be 
found many an old English provincial phrase, 
long since obsolete in the parent country ; with 
some quaint relics of the Roundheads ; while Vir- 
ginia cherishes peculiarities characteristic of the 
days of Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 39 

In tiie same way, the sturdy yeomanry of New 
Jersey and Pennsylvania keep up many usages 
fading away in ancient Germany ; while many 
an honest, broad-bottomed custom, nearly extinct 
in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing 
in pristine vigor and luxuriance in Dutch villages, 
on the banks of the Mohawk and the Hudson. 

In no part of our country, however, are the 
customs and peculiarities imported from the old 
W(jrld by the earlier settlers kept up with more 
fidelity than in the little, poverty-stricken villages 
of Spanish and French origin, which border the 
rivers of ancient Louisiana. Their population is 
generally made up of the descendants of those 
nations, married and mterwoven together, and 
occasionally crossed with a slight dash of the 
Indian. The French character, however, floats 
on top, as, from its buoyant qualities, it is sure to 
do, whenever it forms a particle, however small, 
of an intermixture. 

In these serene and dilapidated villages, art 
and nature stand still, and the world forgets to 
turn round. The revolutions that distract other 
parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, or 
p:uss over without leaving any trace. The for- 
tunate inhabitants have none of that public spirit 
\vhich extends its cares beyond its horizon, and 
imports trouble and perplexity from all quarters 
HI newspapers. In fact, newspapers are almost 
unknown in these villages ; and, as French is the 
ciin-ent language, the inhabitants have little com- 
munity of opinion with their republican neighbors. 
They retain, therefore, their old habits of passive 



40 THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

obedience to the decrees of government, as tliough 
thej still lived under the absolute sway of" colonial 
commandants, instead of being part and parcel of 
the sovereign people, and having a voice in pub- 
lic legislation. 

A few aged men, who have grown gray on 
their hereditary acres, and are of the good old 
colonial stock, exert a patriarchal sway in all mat- 
ters of public and private import ; their opinions 
are considered oracular, and their word is law. 

The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that 
eagerness for gain, and rage for improvement, 
which keep our people continually on the move, 
and our country towns incessantly in a state of 
transition. There the magic phrases, " town lots," 
" water privileges," " railroads," and other com- 
prehensive and soul-stirring words from the spec- 
ulator's vocabulary, are never heard. The resi- 
dents dwell in the houses built by their forefathers, 
without thinking of enlarging or modernizing 
them, or pulling them down and turning them 
mto granite stores. The trees under which they 
have been born, and have played in infancy, flour- 
ish undisturbed ; though, by cutting them down, 
they might open new streets, and put money in 
their pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, 
that great object of universal devotion through- 
out our land, seems to have no genuine devotees 
in these peculiar villages ; and unless some of itg 
missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking- 
houses and other pious shrines, there is no know- 
ing how long the inliabitants may remain in their 
present state of contented poverty. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 41 

In descending one of our great western rivers 
in a steamboat, I met with two worthies from one 
of tliese villages, who had been on a distant ex- 
cursion, the longest they had ever made, as they 
seldom ventured far from home. One was the 
great man, or Grand Seigneur of the village ; not 
that he enjoyed any legal privileges or power 
there, cverytliing of the kind having been done 
away when the province was ceded by France 
to the United States. His sway over his neigh- 
bors was merely one of custom and convention, 
out of deference to his family. Beside, he was 
worth full fifty thousand dollars, an amount al- 
most equal, in the imaginations of the villagers, 
to the treasures of King Solomon. 

This very substantial old gentleman, though 
of the fourth or fifth generation in this country, 
retained the true Gallic feature and deportment, 
and reminded me of one of those provincial poten- 
tates that are to be met with in the remote parts 
of France. He was of a large frame, a ginger- 
bread complexion, strong features, eyes that stood 
out like glass knobs, and a prominent nose, which 
he frequently regaled from a gold snuff-box, and 
occasionally blew with a colored handkerchief, 
until it sounded like a trumpet. 

He was attended by an old negro, as black as 
ebony, with a huge mouth, in a continual grin ; 
evidently a privileged and favorite servant, who 
had grown up and grown old with him. He was 
dressed in creole style, with white jacket and 
trousers, a stiff shirt-collar, that threatened to cut 
»ff his ears, a bright Madras handkei'chief tied 



42 THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

round his head, and larj^e gold ear-rings. He 
was the politest negro I met with in a western 
tour, and that is saying a great deal, for, ex- 
eepting the Indians, the negroes are the most 
gentlemanlike personages to be met with in those 
parts. It is true they differ from the Indians in 
being a little extra polite and complimentary. 
He was also one of the merriest ; and here, too, 
the negroes, however we may deplore their un- 
happy condition, have the advantage of their mas- 
ters. The whites are, in general, too free and 
prosperous to be merry. The cares of maintain- 
ing their rights and liberties, adding to their 
wealth, and making presidents, engross all their 
thoughts and dry up all the moisture of their 
souls. If you hear a broad, hearty, devil-may- 
care laugh, be assured it is a negro's. 

Beside this African domestic, the seigneur of 
the village had another no less cherished and 
privileged attendant. This was a huge dog, of 
the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, 
and a look of surly gravity. He walked about 
the cabin with the air of a dog perfectly at home, 
and who had paid for his passage. At dinner-time 
he took his seat beside his master, giving him a 
glance now and then out of a corner of his eye, 
A\diich bespoke perfect confidence that he would 
not be forgotten. Nor was he. Every now and 
then a huge morsel would be thrown to him, per- 
adventure the half-picked leg of a fowl, which he 
would receive with a snap like the springing of 
a steel trap, — one gulp, and all was down ; and 
a glance of the eye told his master that he was 
ready for another consignment. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 43 

The other vilhige worthy, travelling in com- 
pany witli the seigneur, was of a totally different 
stamp. Small, thin, and weazen-faced, as French- 
men are apt to be represented in caricature, with 
a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his 
ear. His dress was flimsy, and sat loosely on 
his frame, and he had altogether the look of one 
with but little coin in his pocket. Yet, though 
one of the poorest, 1 was assured he was one of 
the mcHTiest and most popular personages in his 
native village. 

Compei-e Martin, as he was commonly called, 
was the factotum of the place, — sportsman, 
schoolmaster, and land-surveyor. He could sing, 
dance, and, above all, play on the fiddle, an in- 
valuable accomplishment in an old French Creole 
village, for the inhabitants have a hereditary love 
foi- balls and fetes. If they work but little, they 
dance a great deal ; and a fiddle is the joy of 
their heart. 

What had sent Compere Martin travelling with 
the Grand Seigneur I could not learn. He evi- 
dently looked up to him with great deference, and 
was assiduous in rendering him petty attentions ; 
from which I concluded that he lived at home 
upon the crumbs which fell from his table. He 
was gayest when out of his sight, and had his 
song and his joke when forward among the deck 
passengers ; but, altogether. Compere Martin wjis 
out of his element on board of a steamboat. He 
was quite another being, I am told, when at 
home in his own village. 

Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he too had 



44 THE CREOLL VILLAGE. 

his canine follower and retainer, — and one suited 
to his different fortunes, — one of the eivilest, 
most unoffending little dogs in the world. Un- 
like the lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had 
no right on board of the steamboat ; if you did 
but look hard at him, he would throw himself 
upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring 
mercy. 

At table he took his seat a little distance from 
his master ; not with the bluff, confident air of 
the mastiff, but quietly and diffidently ; his head 
on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched, the 
other hopefully cocked up ; his under-teeth pro- 
jecting beyond his black nose, and his eye wist- 
fully following each morsel that went into his 
master's mouth. 

If Compere Martin now and then should ven- 
ture to abstract a morsel from his plate, to give 
to his humble companion, it was edifying to see 
with what diffidence the exemplary little animal 
would take hold of it, with the very tip of his 
teeth, as if he would almost rather not, or was 
feaj'ful of taking too great a liberty. And then 
with what decorum would he eat it ! How many 
efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it 
stuck in his throat ; with what daintiness would 
he lick his lips ; and then with what an air of 
thankfulness would he resume his seat, with his 
teeth once more projecting beyond his nose, and 
an eye of humble expectation fixed upon his 
master. 

It was late in the afternoon when the steam- 
boat stopped at the village which was the resi- 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 45 

Hence of these worthies. It stood on the high 
bank of the I'iver, and bore traces of having been 
a frontier trading-post. There were the remains 
of stockades that once protected it from the In- 
dians, and tlie honses were in the ancient Spanish 
and French colonial taste, the place having been 
successively under the domination of both those 
nations prior to the cession of Louisiana to the 
United States. 

The arrival of the seigneur of fifty thousand 
dollars, and his humble companion, Compere Mar- 
tui, liad evidently been looked forward to as an 
event in the village. Numbers of men, women, 
and children, white, yellow, and black, were col- 
lected on the river bank ; most of them clad in 
old-fashioned French garments, and their heads 
decorated with colored handkerchiefs, or white 
nightcaps. The moment the steamboat came 
within sight and hearing, there was a waving of 
liandkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling; of 
salutations and felicitations, that baffle all de- 
scription. 

The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars 
was received by a train of relatives, and friends, 
and children, and grandchildren, whom he kissed 
on each cheek, and who formed a procession in 
his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, 
following him to a large, old-fashioned French 
house, that domineered over the village. 

His black valet de chwnhre.^ in white jacket 
and trousers, and gold ear-rings, was met on the 
shore by a boon, though rustic companion, a tall 
negro fellow, with a long, good-humored face, and 



46 THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

the profile of a horse, which stood out from be- 
neath a narrow-rimmed straw hat, stuck on the 
back of his head. The explosions of laughter of 
these two varlets on meeting and exchanging 
compliments, were enough to electrify the coun- 
try round. 

The most hearty reception, however, was that 
given to Compere Martin. Everybody, young 
and old, hailed him before he got to land. Every- 
body had a joke for Compere Martin, and Com- 
pere Martin had a joke for everybody. Even 
his little dog appeared to partake of his popu- 
larity, and to be caressed by every hand. Indeed, 
he was quite a different animal the moment he 
touched the land. Here he was at home ; here 
he was of consequence. He barked, he leaped, 
he frisked about his old friends, and then would 
skim round the place in a wide circle, as if mad. 

I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to 
their home. It was an old ruinous Spanish 
house, of large dimensions, with verandas over- 
shadowed by ancient elms. The house had prob- 
ably been the residence, in old times, of the 
Spanish commandant. In one wing of this crazy, 
but aristocratical abode, was nestled the family 
of my fellow-traveller ; for poor devils are apt 
to be magnificently clad and lodged, in the cast- 
off clothes and abandoned palaces of the great 
and wealthy. 

The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed 
by a legion of women, children, and mongrel 
curs ; and, as poverty and gayety generally go 
hand-in-hand among the French and their de- 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 47 

Bcendauts, the crazy mansion soon resounded with 
loud gossip and liglit-hearted laughter. 

As the steamboat paused a short time at the 
village, I took occasion to stroll about the place. 
Most of the houses were in the French taste, 
with casements and rickety verandas, but most 
of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the 
wagons, ploughs, and other utensils about the 
place were of ancient and inconvenient Gallic 
construction, such as had been brought from 
France in the primitive days of the colony. The 
very looks of the people reminded me of the vil- 
lages of France. 

From one of the houses came the hum of a 
spinning-wheel, accompanied by a scrap of an 
old French chanson, which 1 have heard many a 
time among the peasantry of Languedoc, doubt- 
less a traditional song, brought over by the first 
French emigrants, and handed down from genera- 
tion to generation. 

Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the 
adjacent dwellings, reminding me, by their light 
step and gay costume, of scenes in ancient France, 
where taste in dress comes natural to every class 
of females. The trim bodice and colored petti- 
coat, and little apron, with its pockets to receive 
the hands when in an attitude for conversation ; 
the colored kerchief wound tastefully round the 
head, with a coquetish knot perking above one 
t ar ; and the neat slipper and tight-drawn stock- 
ing, with its braid of narrow ribbon embracing 
the ankle where it peeps from its mysterious cur- 
tain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends 
his most inciting: arrows. 



4S THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

Wbile I was musing upon the recollections 
thus accidentally summoned up, I heard the sound 
of a fiddle from the mansion of Compere Martin, 
the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I 
was disposed to turn my steps thither, and wit- 
ness the festivities of one of the very few villages 
I had met with in my wide tour that was yet 
poor enough to be merry ; but the bell of the 
steamboat summoned me to reembark. 

As we swept away from the shore, I cast back 
a wistful eye upon the moss-grown roofs and an- 
cient elms of the village, and prayed that the 
inhabitants might long retain their happy igno- 
rance, their absence of all enterprise and im- 
provement, their respect for the fiddle, and their 
contempt for the almighty dollar* I fear, how- 
ever, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In 
a little while the steamboat whirled me to an 
American town, just springing into bustling and 
prosperous existence. 

The surrounding forest had been laid out in 
town lots ; frames of wooden buildings were rising 
from among stumps and burnt trees. The place 
already boasted a court-house, a jail, and two 
banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of 
Grecian temples. There were rival hotels, rival 
churches, and rival newspapers ; together with 

* This phrase, used for the first time iri this sketch, has since 
passed into ciUTent circulation, and by some has been ques- 
tioned as savoring of irreverence. The author, therefore, 
owes it to his orthodoxy to declare that no irreverence was 
intended even to the dollar itself; which he is aware is daily 
becoming more and more an object of worship. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 49 

the usiml number of judges and generals and 
governors ; not to speak of doctors by the dozen, 
and hiwyers by the score. 

The phice, I was told, was in an astonishing 
career of improvement, with a canal and two 
railroads in embryo. Lots doubled in price every 
week ; everybody was speculating in land ; every- 
body was rich ; and everybody was growing 
richer. The community, however, was torn to 
pieces by new doctrines in religion and in polit- 
ical economy ; there were camp-meetings, and 
agi'arian meetings ; and an election was at hand, 
which, it was expected, would throw the whole 
country into a paroxysm. 

Alas ! with such an enterprising neighbor, 
what is to become of the poor little creole 
village ! 





MOUNTJOY : 




OR, SOME PASSAGES OUT OF THE LIFE OF A CASTLE- 
BUILDER. 



WAS born among romantic scenery, in 
one of the wildest parts of the Hudson, 
which at that time was not so thickly- 
settled as at present. My father was descended 
from one of the old Huguenot families, that came 
over to this country on the revocation of the 
Edict of Nantz. He lived in a style of easy, 
rural independence, on a patrimonial estate that 
had been for two or three generations in the 
family. He was an indolent, good-natured man, 
took the world as it went, and had a kind of 
langhing philosophy, that parried all rubs and 
mishaps, and served him in the place of wisdom. 
This was the part of his character least to my 
taste ; for I was of an enthusiastic, excitable tem- 
perament, prone to kindle up with new schemes 
and projects, and he was apt to dash my sallying 
enthusiasm by some unlucky joke ; so that when- 
ever I was in a glow with any sudden excitement, 
I stood in mortal dread of his good humor. 

Yet he indulged me in every vagary, for I was 
an only son, and of course a personage of impor- 
tance in the household. I had two sisters oldei 



MOUNTJOr. 51 

than myself, and one younger. The former were 
educated at New. York, under the eye of a maiden 
aunt ; the latter remained at home, and was my 
cherished playmate, the companion of my thoughts. 
We were two imaginative little beings, of quick 
susceptibility, and prone to see wonders and mys- 
teries in everything around us. Scarce had we 
learned to read, when our mother made us holi- 
day presents of all the nursery literature of the 
day, wliich at that time consisted of little books 
covered with gilt paper, adorned with " cuts," and 
filled with tales of fairies, giants, and enchanters. 
What draughts of deliofhtful fiction did we then 
inhale ! My sister Sophy was of a soft and ten- 
der nature. She would weep over the woes of 
the Children in the Wood, or quake at the dark 
romance of Blue-Beard, and the terrible mys- 
teries of the blue chamber. But I was all for 
enterprise and adventure. I burned to emulate 
the deeds of that heroic prince wdio delivered 
the white cat from her enchantment ; or he of 
no less royal blood and doughty emprise, who 
bi'oke the charmed slumber of the Beauty in the 
Wood ! 

The house in which we lived was just the 
kind of place to foster such propensities. It wfis 
a venerable mansion, half villa, half farm-house. 
The oldest part was of stone, with loopholes for 
nuisketry, having served as a family fortress in 
the time of tlie Indians. To this there had been 
ttiade various additions, some of brick, some of 
wood, accordini^: to the exigencies of the moment ; 
60 that it was full of nooks and crooks, and cham- 



52 MOUNTJor. 

bers of all sorts and sizes. It was buried among 
willows, eluis, and cherry-trees, and surrounded 
with roses and hollyhocks, with honeysuckle and 
sweetbrier clambering about every window. A 
brood of hereditary pigeons sunned themselves 
upon the roof; hereditary swallows and martins 
built about the eaves and chimneys ; and heredi- 
tary bees hummed about the flower-beds. 

Under the influence of our story-books every 
object around us now assumed a new character, 
and a charmed interest. The wild flowers were 
no longer the mere ornaments of the fields, or the 
resorts of the toilful bee ; they were the lurking- 
places of fairies. We would watch the humming- 
bird, as it hovered around the trumpet-creeper at 
our porch, and the butterfly as it flitted up into 
the blue air, above the sunny tree-tops, and fancy 
them some of the tiny beings from fairy land. I 
would call to mind all that I had read of Robin 
Goodfellow, and his power of transformation. O 
how I envied him that power ! How I longed to 
be able to compress my form into utter littleness, 
to ride the bold dragon-fly, swing on the tall 
bearded grass, follow the ant into his subter- 
raneous habitation, or dive into the cavernous 
depths of the honeysuckle ! 

While I was yet a mere child, I was sent to a 
daily school, about two miles distant. The school- 
house was on the edge of a wood, close by a brook 
overhung with birches, alders, and dwarf-willows 
We of the school who lived at some distance 
came with our dinners put up in little baskets 
Id the intervals of school hours, we would gatliei 



MOUNTJOY. 53 

rouinl a spring, under a tuft of hazel-bushes, and 
have a kind of picnic; interchanging the rustic 
dainties with which our provident mothers had 
fitted us out. Then, when our joyous repast wa.: 
over, and my companions were disposed for phiy, 
I would draw forth one of my cherished story- 
books, stretch myself on the greensward, and soon 
lose myself in its bewitching contents. 

I became an oracle among my schoolmates, on 
account of my superior erudition, and soon im- 
parted to them the contagion of my infected fancy. 
Often in the evening, after school hours, we would 
sit on the trunk of some fallen tree in the woods, 
and vie with each other in telling extravagant 
stories, until the whip-poor-will began his nightly 
moaning, and the fire-flies sparkled in the gloom. 
Then came the perilous journey homeward. What 
delight we would take in getting up wanton panics, 
in some dusky part of the wood ; scampering like 
frightened deer, pausing to take breath, renew- 
ino- the panic, and scampering off again, wild with 
fictitious terror! 

Our greatest trial was to pass a dark, lonely 
pool, covered with pond-lilies, peopled with bull- 
frogs and water-snakes, and haunted by two white 
cranes. Oh ! the terrors of that pond ! How our 
little hearts would beat, as we approached it; 
what fearful glances we would throw around ! 
And if by chance a plash of a wild duck, or the 
guttural twang of a bull-frog, struck our ears, as 
Ave stole quietly by — away we sped, nor paused 
until completely out of the woods. Then, when 1 
reached home, what a world of adventures and 



5i MOUNTJUr. 

imaginary teri"orf< would I have to relate to my 
sister Sophy ! 

As I advanced in years, this turn of mind in- 
creased upon me, and became more confirmed. I 
abandoned myself to the impulses of a romantic 
imaghiation, which controlled my studies, and gave 
a bias to all my habits. My father observed me 
continually with a book in my hand, and satisfied 
himself that I was a profound student ; but what 
were my studies ? Works of fiction, tales of 
chivalry, voyages of discovery, travels in the 
East ; everything, in short, that partook of adven- 
ture and romance. I well remember with what 
zest I entered upon that part of my studies which 
treated of tlie heathen mythology, and particularly 
of the sylvau deities. Then indeed my school- 
books became dear to me. The neighborhood was 
well calculated to foster the reveries of a mind 
like mine. It abounded with solitary retreats, 
wnld streams, solemn forests, and silent valleys. 
I would ramble about for a whole day, with a 
volume of Ovid's Metamorphoses in my pocket, 
and work myself into a kind of self-delusion, so 
as to identify the surrounding scenes with those 
of which I had just been reading. I would loiter 
about a brook that glided through the shadowy 
depths of the forest, picturing it to myself the 
haunt of Naiades. I would steal round some 
bushy copse that opened upon a glade, as if I 
expected to come suddenly upon Diana and her 
nymphs ; or to behold Pan and his satyrs bound- 
ing, with whoop and halloo, through the woodland. 
1 would throw myself, during the panting heats 



MOUNTJOY. 55 

of a summer noon, under the shade of some wide- 
spreading tree, and muse and dream away the 
hours, in a state of mental intoxication. I drank 
in the very light of day, as nectar, and my soul 
seemed to bathe with ecstasy in the deep blue of 
a summer sky. 

In these wanderings nothing occurred to jar 
my feelings, or bring me back to the realities of 
life. There is a repose in our mighty forests that 
gives full scope to the imagination. Now and 
then I would hear the distant sound of the wood- 
cutter's axe, or the crash of some tree which he 
had laid low ; but these noises, echoing along the 
quiet landscape, could easily be wrought by fancy 
into harmony with its illusions. In general, how- 
ever, the woody recesses of the neighborhood were 
peculiarly wild and unfrequented. I could ramble 
for a whole day, without coming upon any traces 
of cultivation. The partridge of the wood scarcely 
seemed to shun my path, and the squirrel, from 
his nut-tree, would gaze at me for an instant, with 
sparkling eye, as if wondering at the unwonted 
intrusion. 

I cannot help dwelling on tliis delicious period 
of my life ; when as yet I had known no sorrow, 
nor experienced any worldly care. I have since 
studied much, both of books and men, and of 
course have grown too wise to be so easily pleased; 
yet with all my wisdom, I must confess I look 
back with a secret feeling of regret to the days 
of hai)py ignorance, before I had begun to be a 
philosopher. 



56 MOUNT.TOY. 

It must be evident that I was in a hopeful 
training, for one who was to descend into the 
■arena of life, and wrestle with the world. The 
tutor, also, who superintended my studies, in the 
more advanced stage of my education, was just 
fitted to complete the fata morgana which was 
forming in my mind. His name was Glencoe. 
He was a pale, melancholy-looking man, about 
forty yeai'S of age ; a native of Scotland, liberally 
educated, and who had devoted himself to the 
instruction of youth, from taste rather than neces- 
sity ; for, as he said, he loved the human heart, 
and delighted to study it in its earlier impulses. 
My two elder sisters, having returned home from 
a city boarding-school, were likewise placed undei- 
his care, to direct their reading in history and 
belles-lettres. 

We all soon became attached to Glencoe. It 
is true we were at first somewhat prepossessed 
against him. His meagre, pallid countenance, his 
broad pronunciation, his inattention to the little 
forms of society, and an awkward and embar- 
rassed manner, on first acquaintance, were much 
against him ; but we soon discovered that under 
this unpromising extenor existed the kindest 
urbanity, the wai'mest sympathies, the most en- 
thusiastic benevolence. His mind was ingenious 
and acute. His reading had been various, but 
more abstruse than profound ; his memory was 
stored, on all subjects, with facts, theories, and 
quotations, and crowded with crude materials for 
tlsinking. These, in a moment of excitement, 
would be, as it were, melted down and poured 



MOUNTJOY. ^1 

forth in the lava of a heated imagination. At 
such moments, the change in the whole man was 
wonderful. His meagre form would acquire a 
dignity and grace ; his long, pale visage would 
flash with a hectic glow ; his eyes would beam 
with intense speculation ; and there would be 
pathetic tones and deep modulations in his voice, 
that delighted the ear, and spoke movingly to the 
heart. 

But what most endeared him to us, was the 
kindness and sympathy with which he entered into 
all our interests and wishes. Instead of curbing 
and checking our yoimg imaginations with the 
reins of sober reason, he was a little too apt to 
catch the impulse, and be hurried away with us. 
He could not withstand the excitement of any 
sally of feeling or fan(;y, and was prone to lend 
heightening tints to the illusive coloring of youth- 
ful anticipation. 

Under his guidance my sisters and myself soon 
entered upon a more extended range of studies ; 
but while they wandered, with delighted minds, 
througli the wide field of history and belles-let- 
tres, a nobler walk was opened to my superior 
intellect. 

The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mix- 
ture of pliilosophy and poetry. He was fond of 
metaphysics, and pi'one to indulge in abstract 
speculations, though his metaphysics were some- 
what tine spun and fanciful, and liis speculations 
were apt to partake of what my father most 
irreverently termed " humbug." For my part, I 
ilelighted in them, and the more especially be- 



58 MOUNT./ OY. 

cause tliey set my father to sleep, and completely 
confounded my sisters. I entered, with my 
accustomed eagerness, into this new branch of 
study. Metaphysics were now my passion. My 
sisters attempted to accompany me, but they soon 
faltered, and gave out before they had got half 
way through " Smith's Theory of Moral Senti- 
ments." I, however, went on, exulting in my 
strength. Glencoe supplied me with books, and 
I devoured them with appetite, if not digestion. 
We walked and talked together under the trees 
before the house, or sat apart, like Milton's angels, 
and held high converse upon themes beyond the 
grasp of ordinary intellects. Glencoe possessed a 
kind of philosophic chivalry, in imitation of the 
old peripatetic sages, and was continually dream- 
ing of romantic enterprises in morals, and splendid 
systems for the improvement of society. He had 
a fanciful mode of illustrating abstract subjects, 
peculiarly to my taste ; clothing them with the 
language of poetry, and throwing round them 
almost the magic hues of fiction. " How charm- 
ing," thought I, " is divine philosophy ; " not harsh 
and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 

" But a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns." 

I felt a wonderful self-complacency at being on 
such excellent terms with a man whom I con- 
sidered on a parallel with the sages of antiquity, 
and looked down with a sentiment of pity on the 
feebler intellects of my sisters, who could compre- 
hend nothing of metaphysics. It is true, when I 



MOUNTJOY. o9 

?\ttempted to study tliem by myself I was apt to 
get in a fog ; but when Glencoe came to my aid, 
everything was soon as clear to me as day. My 
ear drank in the beauty of his words ; ray imagi- 
nation was dazzled with the splendor of his illus- 
trations. It caught up the sparkling sands of 
poetry that glittered through his speculations, and 
mistook them for the golden ore of wisdom. 
Struck with the facility with which I seemed to 
imbibe and relish the most abstract doctrines, I 
conceived a still higher opinion of my mental 
powers, and was convinced that I also was a phi- 
losoplier. 



I was now verging toward man's estate, and 
though my education had been extremely irregu- 
\r^Y^ — following the caprices of my humor, which 
I mistook for the impulses of my genius, — yet I 
was regarded with wonder and delight by my 
mother and sisters, who considered me almost as 
wise and infallible as I considered myself. This 
high opinion of me was strengthened by a de- 
clamatory habit, which made me an oracle and 
orator at the domestic board. The time was 
now at hand, however, that was to put my phi-, 
losophy to the test. 

We had passed through a long winter, and the 
spring at length opened upon us, with unusual 
sweetness. The soft serenity of the weather, 
the beauty of the surrounding country, the joy- 
ous notes of tlie birds, the balmy breath of 
flower and blossom, all combined to fill my 
bosom with indistinct sensations and nameless 



GO MOUNT.; or. 

wislies. Aiiiicl the soft seductions of the season 
I lapsed into a state of utter indolence, both of 
body and mind. 

Philosophy had lost its charms for me. Meta- 
physics — faugh! I tried to study; took down 
volume after volume, ran my eye vacantly over 
a few pages, and threw them by with distaste. 
I loitered about the house, with my hands in my 
pockets, and an air of complete vacancy. Some- 
tliing was necessary to make me happy ; but 
what was that something ? I sauntei'ed to the 
apartments of my sisters, hoping their conversa- 
tion might amuse me. They had walked out, 
and the room was vacant. On the table lay a 
volume Avhicli they had been reading. It was a 
novel. I had never read a novel, having con- 
ceived a contempt for works of tlie kind, from 
hearing them universally condemned. It is true, 
I had remarked they were univei^ally read ; but 
I considered them beneath the attention of a 
philosopher, and never would venture to read 
them, lest I should lessen my mental superiority 
in the eyes of my sistei'S. Nay, I had taken up 
a work of the kind, now and then, when I knew 
my sisters were observing me, looked into it for 
a moment, and then laid it down, with a slight 
supercilious smile. On the present occasion, out 
of mere listlessness, I took up the volume, and 
turned over a few of the first pages. I thought 
I heard some one coming, and laid it down. I 
was mistaken ; no one was near, and what 1 had 
read, tempted my curiosity to read a little farther. 
X leaned against a window-frame, and in a few 



MOUNTJOr. 61 

minutes was completely lost in the story. How 
long I stood there reading I know not, but I be- 
lie\e for nearly two hours. Suddenly I heard 
my sisters on tlie stairs, when I thrust the book 
into my bosom, and the two other volumes, which 
lay near, into my pockets, and hurried out of the 
house to my beloved woods. Here I remained 
all day beneath the trees, bewildered, bewitched ; 
devourino- the contents of these delicious volumes ; 
and only returned to the house when it was too 
dark to peruse their pages. 

This novel finished, I replaced it in my sister's 
apartment, and looked for others. Their stock 
was ample, for they had brought home all that 
were current in the city ; but my appetite de- 
manded an immense supply. All this course of 
reading was carried on clandestinely, for I was a 
little ashamed of it, and fearful that my wisdom 
might be called in question ; but this very privacy 
gave it additional zest. It was " bread eaten in 
secret " ; it had the charm of a private amour. 

But think what must have been the effect of 
such a course of reading on a youth of my tem- 
perament and turn of mind ; indulged, too, amidst 
romantic scenery, and in the romantic season of 
the year. It seemed as if I had entered upon a 
new scene of existence. A train of combustible 
feelings were lighted up in me, and my soul was 
all tenderness and passion. Never Avas youth 
more completely love-sick, though as yet it was a 
mere genernl sentiment, and wanted a definite 
object. Unfortunately, our neighborhood was 
particularly deficient in female society, and I Ian- 



C2 MOUNTJOY. 

guished in vain tor some divinity, to whom I 
might offer up this most uneasy burden of affec- 
tions. I was at one time seriously enamored of 
a lady whom I saw occasionally in my rides, 
reading at the window of a country-seat, and 
actually serenaded her with my flute ; when, to 
my confusion, I discovered that she was old 
enough to be my mother. It was a sad damper 
to my romance ; especially as my father heard 
of it, and made it the subject of one of those 
household jokes, which he was apt to serve up 
at every meal-time. 

I soon recovered from this check, however, but 
it was only to relapse into a state of amorous 
excitement. I passed whole days in the fields, 
and along the brooks ; for there is something in 
the tender passion that makes us alive to the 
beauties of Nature. A soft sunshine morning 
infused a sort of rapture into my breast ; I flung 
open my arms, like the Grecian youth in Ovid, 
as if I would take in and embrace the balmy 
atmosphere.* The song of the birds melted me 
to tenderness. I would lie by the side of some 
rivulet for hours, and form garlands of the flowers 
on its banks, and muse on ideal beauties, and 
sigh from the crowd of undefined emotions that 
swelled my bosom. 

In this state of amorous delirium, I was stroll- 
ing one morning along a beautiful wild brook 
which I had discovered in a glen. There was 
one place where a small waterfall, leaping from 
among rocks into a natural basin, made a scene 
such as a poet miglit have chosen as the haunt 

* Ovid's Metamorphoses^ Book vii. 



MOUNTJOY. 63 

of some shy Naiad. It was here T usually re- 
tired to banquet on my novels. In visiting the 
place this morning, I traced distinctly, on the 
margin of tlie basin, which was of fine clear sand, 
the prints of a female foot, of the most slender 
and delicate proportions. This was sufficient for 
an imagination like mine. Robinson Crusoe him- 
self, when he discovered the print of a savage 
foot on the beach of his lonely island, could not 
have been more suddenly assailed with thick- 
coming fancies. 

I endeavored to track the steps, but they only 
passed for a few paces along the fine sand, and 
then were lost among the herbage. I remained 
gazing in reverie upon this passing trace of love- 
liness. It evidently was not made by any of my 
sisters, for they knew nothing of this haunt ; 
besides, the foot was smaller than theirs ; it was 
remarkable for its beautiful delicacy. 

My eye accidentally caught two or three half- 
withered wild flowers, lying on the ground. The 
unknown nymph had doubtless dropped them 
from her bosom ! Here was a new document of 
taste and sentiment. I treasured them up as 
invaluable relics. The place, too, where I found 
them, was remarkably picturesque, and the most 
beautiful part of the brook. It was overhung 
with a fine elm, entwined with grape-vines. She 
wlio could select such a spot, who could delight 
ill wild brooks, and wild flowers, and silent 
solitudes, must have fancy, and feeling, and ten- 
derness ; and, with all these qualities, she must 
oe beautiful ! 



64 MOUNT JOY. 

But who could be this Unknown, that had 
thus passed by, as in a morning dream, leaving 
merely flowers and fairy footsteps to tell of her 
loveliness ! There was a mystery in it that be- 
wildered me. It was so vague and disembodied, 
like those " aiiy tongues that syllable men's 
names " in solitude. Every attempt to solve the 
mystery was vain. I could hear of no being in 
the neighborhood to whom this trace could be 
ascribed. I haunted the spot, and became more 
and more enamored. Never, surely, was passion 
more pure and spiritual, and never lover in more 
dubious situation. My case could only be com- 
pared with that of the amorous prince, in the 
fairy tale of " Cinderella ; " but he had a glass 
slipper on which to lavish his tenderness. I, alas ! 
was in love with a footstep ! 

The imagination is alternately a cheat and a 
dupe ; nay, more, it is the most subtle of cheats, 
for it cheats itself, and becomes the dupe of its 
own delusions. It conjures up " airy nothings," 
gives to them a " local habitation and a name," 
and then bows to their control as implicitly as if 
they were realities. Such was now my case. 
The good Numa could not more thoroughly have 
persuaded himself that the nymph Egeria hovered 
about her sacred fountain, and communed with 
him in spirit, than I had deceived myself into a 
kind of visionary intercourse with the airy phan- 
tom fabricated in my brain. I constructed a 
rustic seat at the foot of the tree where I had 
liscovered the footsteps. I made a kind of bower 



MOUNTJOY. 65 

there^ where I used to pass my mornings, reading 
poetry and romances. I carved hearts and darts 
on the tree, and hung it with garlands. My 
heart was full to overflowing, and wanted some 
faithful bosom into which it might relieve itself. 
What is a lover without a confidante ? I thousfht 
at once of my sister Sophy, my early playmate, 
the sister of my affections. She was so reasona- 
ble, too, and of such correct feelings, always lis- 
tening to my words as oracular sayings, and 
admiring my scraps of poetry, as the very inspi- 
rations of the Muse. From such a devoted, such 
a rational being, what secrets could I have ? 

I accordingly took her, one morning, to my 
favorite retreat. She looked around, with de- 
lighted surprise, upon the rustic seat, the bower, 
the tree carved with emblems of the tender pas- 
sion. She turned her eyes upon me to inquire 
the meaning. 

" Oh, Sophy," exclaimed I, clasping both her 
hands in mine, and looking earnestly in her face, 
" I am in love ! " 

She started with surprise. 

" Sit down," said I, " and I will tell you all." 

She seated herself upon the rustic bench, and I 
went into a full history of the footstep, with all 
the associations of idea that had been conjured 
up by my imagination. 

Sophy was enchanted ; it was like a fairy tale : 

she had read of such mysterious visitations in 

books, and the loves thus conceived were always 

for beings of superior order, and were always 

5 



66 MOUNTJOY. 

happy. She caiiglit the illusion, in all its force ; 
her cheek glowed ; her eye brightened. 

" I dare say she 's pretty," said Sophy. 

"Pretty!" echoed I, "she is beautiful!" I 
went through all the reasoning by which I had 
logically proved the fact to my own satisfoction. 
I dwelt upon the evidences of her taste, her sen- 
sibility to the beauties of Nature ; her soft medi- 
tative habit, that delighted in solitude ; " oh," said 
I, clasping my hands, " to have such a companion 
to wander through these scenes ; to sit with her 
by this murmuring stream ; to wreathe garlands 
round her brows ; to hear the music of her 
voice mingling with the whisperings of these 
groves ; " 

" Delightful ! delightful ! " cried Sophy ; " what 
a sweet creature she must be! She is just the 
friend I want. How I shall dote upon her ! Oh, 
my dear brother ! you must not keep her all to 
yourself You must let me have some share of 
her ! " 

I caught her to my bosom : " You shall — you 
shall ! " cried I, " my dear Sophy ; we will all live 
for each other ! " 

The conversation with Sophy heightened the 
illusions of my mind ; and the manner in which 
she had treated my day-dream, identified it with 
facts and persons, and gave it still more the stamp 
of reality. I walked about as one in a trance, 
heedless of the world around, and lapped in an 
elysium of the fancy. 

In this mood I met, one morning, with Glencoe. 



MOUNTJOY. 67 

He accosted me with his usual smile, and was pro- 
ceeding with some general observations, but paused 
and fixed on me an inquiring eye. 

" What is the matter with you ? " said he ; 
" you seem agitated ; has anything in particular 
happened ? " 

" Nothing," said I, hesitating ; " at least nothing 
worth communicating to you.'' 

" Nay, my dear young friend," said he, " what- 
ever is of sufficient importance to agitate you, is 
worthy of being communicated to me." 

" Well ; but my thoughts are running on what 
you would think a frivolous subject." 

" No subject is frivolous that has the power to 
awaken strong feelings." 

" What think you," said I, hesitating, " what 
think you of love ? " 

Glencoe almost started at the question. " Do 
you call that a frivolous subject ? " replied he. 
" Believe me, there is none fraught with such 
deep, such vital interest. If you talk, indeed, of 
the capricious inclination awakened by the mere 
ciiarm of p(3rishable beauty, I grant it to be idle 
in the extreme ; but that love which springs from 
the concordant sympathies of virtuous hearts ; that 
love which is awakened by the perception of moral 
excellence, and fed by meditation on intellectual as 
well as personal beauty ; that is a passion Avhich 
refines and ennobles the human heart. Oh, where 
is there a sight more nearly approaching to tlie 
intercourse of angels, than that of two young 
beings, free from the sins and follies of the world, 
mingling pure thoughts, and looks, and feelings, 



68 MOUNTJOY. 

and becoming as it were soul of one soul, and 
heart of one heart ! How exquisite the silent 
converse that they hold ; the soft devotion of the 
eye, that needs no words to make it eloquent ! 
Yes, my friend, if there be anything in this weary 
world worthy of heaven, it is the pure bliss ot 
such a mutual affection ! " 

The words of my worthy tutor overcame all 
farther reserve. " Mr. Glencoe," cried I, blush- 
ing still deeper, " I am in love ! " 

"And is that what you were ashamed to tell 
me ? Oh, never seek to conceal from your friend 
so important a secret. If your passion be un- 
worthy, it is for the steady hand of friendship to 
pluck it forth ; if honorable, none but an enemy 
would seek to stifle it. On nothing does the 
character and happiness so much depend, as 
on the first affection of the heart. Were you 
caught by some fleeting or superficial charm — a 
bright eye, a blooming cheek, a soft voice, or a 
voluptuous form — I would warn you to beware ; 
I would tell you that beauty is but a passing 
gleam of the mornhig, a perishable flower ; that 
e.ccident may becloud and blight it, and that at 
best it must soon pass away. But were you in 
love with such a one as I could describe ; young 
in years, but still younger in feelings ; lovely in 
person, but as a type of the mind's beauty ; soft 
in voice, in token of gentleness of spirit ; bloom- 
ing in countenance, like the rosy tints of morning 
kindling with the promise of a genial day ; an 
eye beaming with the benignity of a happy heart ; 
a cheerful temper, alive to all kind impulses, and 



MOUNT JOY. 69 

frankly diffusing its own felicity; a self-poised 
mind, that needs not lean on others for support ; 
an elegant taste, that can embellish solitude, and 
furnish out its own enjoyments " 

"My dear sir," cried I, for I could contain 
myself no longer, "you have described the very 
person ! " 

"Why then, my dear young friend," said he, 
affectionately pressing my hand, " in God's name, 
love on ! " 

For the remainder of the day I was in some 
such state of dreamy beatitude as a Turk is said 
to enjoy, when under the influence of opium. It 
must be already manifest, how prone I was to be- 
wilder myself with picturings of the fancy, so as 
to confound them with existing realities. In the 
present instance Sophy and Glencoe had con- 
tributed to promote the transient delusion. Sophy, 
dear girl, had as usual joined with me in my 
castle- building, and indulged in the same train of 
imaginings, while Glencoe, duped by my enthusi- 
asm, firmly believed that I spoke of a being I had 
seen and known. By their sympathy with my 
feelings, they in a manner became associated with 
the Unknown in my mind, and thus linked her 
with the circle of my intimacy. 

In the evening our family party was assembled 
in the hall, to enjoy the refreshing breeze. Sophy 
was playing some favorite Scotch airs on the 
piano, while Glencoe, seated apart, with his 
foi'ehead resting on his hand, was buried in 
one of those pensive reveries, that made him so 



70 MOUNTJOY. 

" What a fortunate beinf? I am ! " tliousflit I, 
" blessed with such a sister and such a friend ! I 
have only to find out this amiable Unknown, to 
wed her, and be happy ! What a paradise will 
be my home, graced with a partner of such ex- 
quisite refinement ! It will be a perfect fairy 
bower, buried among sweets and roses. Sophy 
shall live with us, and be the companion of all 
our enjoyments. Glencoe, too, shall no more be 
the solitary being that he now appears. He shall 
have a home with us. He shall have his study, 
where, when he pleases, he may shut himself up 
from the world, and bury himself in his own re- 
flections. His retreat shall be held sacred ; no 
one shall intrude there ; no one but myself, who 
will visit him now and then, in his seclusion, 
where we will devise grand schemes too^ether for 
the improvement of mankind. How delightfully 
our days will pass, in a round of rational pleasures 
and elegant employments ! Sometimes we will 
have music ; sometimes we will read ; sometimes 
we will wander through the flower-garden, when 
I will smile with complacency on every flower my 
wife has planted ; while in the long winter even- 
ings, the ladies will sit at their work and listen, 
with hushed attention, to Glencoe and myself, as 
we discuss the abstruse doctrines of metaphysics." 

From this delectable reverie I was startled by 
my fatlier's slapping me on the shoulder : " What 
possesses the lad ? " cried he ; " here have I been 
speaking to you half a dozen times, without re- 
ceiving an answer." 

" Pardon me, sir," replied I ; " I was so com- 
pletely lost in thought, that I did not hear you." 



MOUNT JOY. 71 

" Lost in thought ! And pray what were you 
thinking of? Some of your philosophy, I sup- 
pose." 

"Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, 
with an arch laugh, " I suspect Harry 's in love 
again." 

"And if I were in love, Charlotte," said I, 
somewhat nettled, and recollecting Glencoe's en- 
thusiastic eulogy of the passion, " if I were in 
love, is that a matter of jest and laughter ? Is 
the tenderest and most fervid affection that can 
animate tiie human breast to be made a matter 
of cold-hearted ridicule ? " 

My sister colored. " Certainly not, brother ! 
noi' did I mean to make it so, nor to say any- 
thing that should wound your feelings. Had I 
really suspected that you had formed some gen- 
uine attachment, it would have been sacred in my 
eyes ; but — but," said she, smiling, as if at some 
whimsical recollection, " I thought that you — you 
might be indulging in another little freak of the 
imagination." 

" I '11 wager any money," cried my father, " he 
has fallen in love again with some old lady at a 
window ! " 

" Oh no ! " cried my dear sister Sophy, with the 
most gracious warmth ; " she is young and beau- 
tiful."' 

" From what I understand," said Glencoe, rous- 
ing himself, " she must be lovely in mind as in 
person." 

I found my friends were getting me into a fine 
t^crape. I began to perspire at every pore, and 
felt my curs tingle. 



72 MOTTKTJOY. 

" Well, but," cried my father, " who is she ? — 
what is she ? Let us hear something about her." 

This was no time to explain so delicate a mat- 
ter. I caught up my hat, and vanished out of 
the house. 

The moment I was in the open air, and alone, 
my heart upbraided me. Was this respectful 
treatment to my ftither — to such a father too — 
who had always regarded me as the pride of his 
age — the staff of his hopes ? It is true, he was 
apt, sometimes, to laugh at my enthusiastic flights, 
and did not treat my philosophy with due respect ; 
but when had he ever thwarted a wish of my 
heart? Was I then to act with reserve toward 
him, in a matter which might affect the whole 
current of my future life ? "I have done wrong," 
thought I ; " but it is not too late to remedy it. 
I will hasten back, and open my whole heart to 
my father ! " 

I returned accordingly, and was just on the 
point of entering the house, with my heart full 
of filial piety, and a contrite speech upon my lips, 
when I heard a burst of obstreperous laughter 
from my father, and a loud titter from my two 
elder sisters. 

"A footstep ! " shouted he, as soon as he could 
recover himself ; " in love with a footstep ! why, 
this beats the old lady at the Avindow ! " And 
then there was another appalling burst of laughter. 
Had it been a clap of thunder, it could hardly 
have astounded me more completely. Sophy, in 
the simplicity of her heart, had told all, and had 
get my father's risible propensities in full action. 



MOUNTJOY. 73 

Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crest- 
fallen as myself. The whole delusion was at an 
end. I di-ew off silently from the house, shrink- 
ing smaller and smaller at every fresh peal of 
laugliter ; and, wandering about until the family 
liad i-etired, stole quietly to my bed. Scarce any 
sleep, however, visited my eyes that night. I 
lay overwhelmed with mortification, and meditat- 
ing how I might meet the family in the moiMiing. 
The idea of ridicule was always intolerable to 
me ; but to endure it on a subject by which my 
feelings had been so much excited, seemed worse 
than death. I almost determined, at one time, to 
get up, saddle my horse, and ride off, I knew not 
whither. 

At length I came to a resolution. Before 
going down to breakfast I sent for Sophy, and 
employed her as an ambassador to treat formally 
in the matter. I insisted that the subject should 
be buried in oblivion ; otherwise I would not show 
my face at table. It was readily agreed to ; for 
not one of the family would have given me pain 
for the world. They faithfully kept their promise. 
Not a word was said of the matter ; but there 
were wry faces, and suppi'essed titters, that went 
to my soul ; and whenever my fiither looked me 
in tlie face, it was with such a tragic-comical leer 
— such an attempt to pull down a serious brow 
upon a wliimsical mouth — that I had a thousand 
times rather lie had laughed outright. 

For a day or two after the mortifying occur- 
rence mentioned, I kept as much as possible out 



74 MOUNTJOY. 

of the way of the family, and wandered about the 
fields and woods by myself. I was sadly out of 
tune : my feelings were all jarred and unstrung. 
Tlie birds sang from every grove, but I took no 
pleasure in their melody ; and the flowers of the 
field bloomed unheeded around me. To be crossed 
in love is bad enough ; but then one can fly to 
poetry for relief, and turn one's woes to account 
in soul-subduing stanzas. But to have one's 
whole passion, object and all, annihilated, dis- 
pelled, proved to be such stuff as dreams are 
made of, or, worse than all, to be turned into a 
proverb and a jest — what consolation is there 
in such a case ? 

I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen the 
footstep. My favorite resort was now the banks 
of the Hudson, where I sat upon the rocks and 
mused upon the current that dimpled by, or the 
waves that laved the sliore ; or watched the bright 
mutations of the clouds, and the shifting lights 
and shadows of the distant mountain. By de- 
grees a returning serenity stole over my feelings ; 
and a sigh now and then, gentle and easy, and 
unattended by pain, showed that my heart was 
recovering its susceptibility. 

As I was sitting in this musing mood, my eye 
became gradually fixed upon an object tliat was 
borne along by the tide. It proved to be a little 
pinnace, beautifully modelled, and gayly painted 
and decorated. It was an unusual sight in this 
neighborhood, wln'ch was rather lonely : indeed 
it was rare to see any pleasure-barks in this part 
of the river. As it drew nearer, I perceived that 



MOTJNTJOY. 76 

there was no one on board ; ii had apparently 
drified from its anchorage. There was not a 
breath of air : the little bark came floating 
along on the glassy stream, wheeling abont with 
the eddies. At length it ran agronnd, almost at 
the foot of the rock on which I was seated. I 
descended to the margin of the river, and draw- 
ing the bark to shore, admired its light and ele- 
gant proportions, and the taste with which it was 
titted up. The benches were covered with cush- 
ions, and its long streamer was of silk. On one 
of the cushions lay a lady's glove, of delicate size 
and shape, with beautifully tapered fingers. I 
instantly seized it and thrust it in my bosom : it 
seemed a match for the fairy footstep that had so 
fascinated me. 

In a moment all the romance of my bosom was 
again in a glow. Here was one of the very inci- 
dents of fairy tale : a bark sent by some invisible 
power, some good genius, or benevolent fairy, to 
waft me to some delectable adventure. I recol- 
lected something of an enchanted bark, drawn by 
white swans, that conveyed a knight down the 
current of the Rhine, on some enterprise con- 
nected with love and beauty. The glove, too, 
showed that there was a lady fair concerned in 
the present adventure. It might be a gauntlet 
of defiance, to dare me to the enterprise. 

In the spirit of romance, and the whim of the 
moment, I sprang on board, hoisted the light sail, 
and pushed fnjm shore. As if breathed by some 
presiding power, a light breeze at that moment 
sprang up, swelled out the sail, and dallied with 



76' MOUNTJOY. 

the silken streamer. For a time I glided along 
under steep umbrageous banks, or across deep 
sequestered bays ; and then stood out over a wide 
expansion of the river, toward a high rocky prom- 
ontory. It was a lovely evening : the sun was 
setting in a congregation of clouds that threw the 
whole heavens in a glow, and were reflected in 
the river. I delighted myself with all kinds of 
fantastic fancies, as to what enchanted island, or 
mystic bower, or necromantic palace, I was to be 
conveyed by the fsdry bark. 

In the revel of my fancy, I had not noticed that 
the gorgeous congi-egation of clouds which had so 
much deliglited me, was, in fact, a gathering thun- 
der-gust. I perceived the truth too late. The 
clouds came hurrying on, darkening as they ad- 
vanced. The whole face of Nature was suddenly 
changed, and assumed that baleful and livid tint 
predictive of a storm. I tried to gain the shore ; 
but, before I could reach it, a blast of wind struck 
the water, and lashed it at once into foam. The 
next moment it overtook the boat. Alas ! I was 
nothing of a sailor ; and my protecting fairy for- 
sook me in the moment of peril. I endeavored 
to lower the sail, but in so doing I had to quit 
the helm ; the bark was overturned in an instant, 
and I was thrown into the water. I endeavored 
to cling to the wreck, but missed my hold : being 
a poor swimmer, I soon found myself sinking, but 
grasped a light oar that was floating by me. It 
was not sufficient for my support : I again sank 
beneath the surface ; there was a i-ushing and 
bubbling sound in my ears, and all sense forsook 
me. 



MOUNTS OY. 77 

How long I remained insensible, 1 know not. 
I had a confused notion of being moved and tossed 
about, and of lieai'ing strange beings and strange 
voices around me ; but all was like a hideous 
dream, AVhen I at length recovered full con- 
sciousness and perception, I found myself in bed, 
in a spacious chamber, furnished with more taste 
than I had been accustomed to. Tiie bright rays 
of a morning sun were intercepted by cui'tains of 
a delicate rose color, that gave a soft, voluptuous 
tinge to every object. Not far from ray bed, on 
a classic tripod, was a basket of beautiful exotic 
flowers, breathing the sweetest fragrance. 

" Wiiere am I ? How came I here ? " 

I tasked my mind to catch at some previous 
event, from which I might trace up the thread of 
existence to the present moment. By degrees I 
called to mind the fairy pinnace, my daring em- 
barkation, my adventurous voyage, and my dis- 
astrous shipwreck. Beyond that all was chaos. 
How came I here ? What unknown region had 
I landed upon ? The people that inhabited it 
must be gentle and amiable, and of elegant tastes, 
for they loved downy beds, fragrant flowers, and 
rose-colored curtains. 

While I lay thus musing, the tones of a harp 
reached my ear. Presently they were accom- 
panied by a female voice. It came from the room 
below ; but in the profound stillness of my cham- 
ber not a modulation was lost. My sisters were 
all considered good musicians, and sang very tol- 
erably ; but I had never heard a voice like this. 
There was no attempt at ditficult execution, or 



78 M0UNTJ07. 

Striking effect ; but there were exquisite inflex- 
ions, and tender turns, which art could not reach. 
Nothing but feeh'ng and sentiment could produce 
them. It was soul breathed forth in sound. I 
was always alive to the influence of music ; in- 
deed 1 was susceptible of voluptuous influences 
of every kind, — sounds, colors, shapes, and fra- 
grant odors. I was the very slave of sensation. 

I lay mute and breathless, and drank in every 
note of this siren strain. It thrilled through my 
whole frame, and filled my soul with melody and 
love. I pictured to myself, with curious logic, 
the form of the unseen musician. Such melodi- 
ous sounds and exquisite inflexions could only be 
produced by organs of the most delicate flexibil- 
ity. Such o]"gans do not belong to coarse, vulgar 
forms ; they are the iiarmonious results of fair 
proportions and admirable symmetry. A being 
so organized must be lovely. 

Again my busy imagination was at work. I 
called to mind the Arabian story of a prince, 
borne away during sleep by a good genius, to the 
distant abode of a princess of ravishing beauty. 
I do not pretend to say tliat I believed in having 
experienced a similar transportation ; but it was 
my inveterate habit to cheat myself with fancies 
of the kind, and to give the tinge of illusion to 
surrounding realities. 

The witching sound had ceased, but its vibra- 
tions still played round my heart, and filled it 
with a tumult of soft emotions. At this moment 
a self-upbraiding pang shot through my bosom. 
" Ah, recreant ! " a voice seemed to exclaim, " is 



MOUNTJOY. 79 

this the stability of thine affections ? What ! 
hast thou so soon forgotten the nymph of the 
fountain ? Has one song, idly piped in thine 
ear, been suthcient to charm away the cherished 
tenderness of a whole summer ? " 

The wise may smile ; but I am in a confiding 
mood, and must confess my weakness. I felt a 
degree of compunction at this sudden infidelity, 
yet I could not resist the power of present fasci- 
nation. My peace of mind was destroyed by con- 
flicting claims. The nymph of the fountam came 
over my memory, with all the associations of fairy 
footsteps, shady groves, soft echoes, and wild 
streamlets ; but this new passion was produced 
by a strain of soul-subduing melody, still linger- 
ing in my ear, aided by a downy bed, fragrant 
flowers, and rose-colored curtains. " Unhappy 
youth ! " sighed I to myself, " distracted by such 
rival passions, and the empire of thy heart thus 
violently contested by the sound of a voice and 
the print of a footstep ! " 

I had not remained long in this mood, wlien I 
heard the door of the room gently opened. I 
turned my head to see what inhabitant of this 
enchanted palace should appear ; whether page 
in green, hideous dwarf, or haggard fairy. It 
was my own man Scipio. He advanced with 
cautious step, and was delighted, as he said, to 
find me so much myself again. My first ques- 
tions were as to where I was, and how I came 
there ? Scipio told me a long story of his having 
been fishing in a canoe, at the time of my hare- 



80 MOUNTJOY. 

brained cruise ; of his noticing the gathering 
squall, and my impending danger ; of his hasten- 
ing to join me, but arriving just in time to snatch 
me from a watery grave ; of the great difficulty 
in restoring me to animation ; and of my being 
subsequently conveyed, in a state of insensibility, 
to this mansion. 

" But where am I ? " was the reiterated de- 
mand. 

" In the house of Mr. Somerville." 

" Somerville — Somerville ! " I recollected to 
have heard that a gentleman of that name had 
recently taken up his residence at some distance 
from my father's abode, on the opposite side of 
the Hudson. He was commonly known by the 
name of " French Somerville," from having passed 
part of his early life in France, and from his ex- 
hibiting traces of French taste in his mode of 
living and the arrangements of his house. In 
fact, it was in his pleasure-boat, which had got 
adrift, that I had made my fanciful and disastrous 
cruise. All this was simple, straightforward mat- 
ter of fact, and threatened to demolish all *he 
cobweb romance I had been spinning, when for- 
tunately I again heard the tinkling of a harp. I 
raised myself in bed, and listened. 

" Scipio," said I, with some little hesitation, 
" I heard some one singing just now. Who 
was it ? " 

" Oh, that was Miss Julia." 

" Julia ! Julia ! Delightful ! what a name 1 
And, Scipio — is she — is she pretty ? " 

Scipio grinned from ear to ear. " Except Miss 



MOUNT JOY. 81 

Sophy, she was the most beautiful young lady he 
h A ever seen." 

I should observe, that my sister Sophia was 
.onsidered by all the servants a paragon of per- 
fection. 

Scipio now offered to remove the basket of 
flowers ; he was afraid their odor might be too 
powerful ; but Miss Julia had given them that 
morning to be placed in my room. 

These flowers, then, had been gathered by the 
ftiiry Angers of my unseen beauty ; that sweet 
breath which had filled my ear with melody, had 
passed over them. I made Scipio hand them to 
me, culled several of the most delicate, and laid 
them on my bosom. 

Mr. Somerville paid me a visit not long after- 
ward. He was an interesting study for me, for 
he was the father of my unseen beauty, and 
probably resembled her. I scanned him closely. 
He was a tall and elegant man, with an open, 
affable manner, and an erect and graceful car- 
riage. His eyes were bluish-gray, and, though 
not dark, yet at times were sparkling and ex- 
pressive. His hair was dressed and powdered, 
and being lightly combed up from his forehead, 
added to the loftiness of his aspect. He was 
fluent in discourse, but his conversation had the 
quiet tone of polished society, without any of 
those bold flights of thought, and picturings of 
fancy, wliich I so much admired. 

My imagination was a little puzzled, at first, to 
make out of this assemblage of personal and 
mental qualities, a picture that should harmonize 
6 



82 MOUNTJOY. 

with my previous idea of the fair unseen. By 
dint, however, of selecting what it liked, and 
rejecting what it did not like, and giving a touch 
here and a touch there, it soon finished out a 
satisfactory portrait. 

"Julia must be tall," thought I, "and of ex- 
quisite grace and dignity. She is not quite so 
courtly as her father, for she has been brought 
up in the retirement of the country. Neither is 
she of such vivacious deportment ; for the tones 
of her voice are soft and plaintive, and she loves 
pathetic music. She is rather pensive — yet not 
too pensive; just what is called interesting. Her 
eyes are like her father's, except that they are of 
a purer blue, and more tender and languishing. 
She has light hair — not exactly flaxen, for J 
do not like flaxen hair, but between that and 
auburn. In a word, she is a tall, elegant, im- 
posing, languishing, blue-eyed, romantic-looking 
beauty." And having thus finished her picture, 
I felt ten times more in love with her than ever. 

I felt so much recovered, that I would at once 
have left my room, but Mr. Somerville objected 
to it. He had sent early word to my family of 
my safety ; and my flither arrived in the course 
of the morning. He was shocked at learning 
the risk I had run, but rejoiced to find me so 
much restored, and was warm in his thanks to 
Mr. Somerville for his kindness. The other only 
required, in return, that I might remain two or 
three days as his guest, to give time for my recov- 
ery, and for our forming a closer acquaintance ; 



MOUNTJOY. 83 

a request which my father readily granted. Scipio 
accordingly accompanied my father home, and 
returned with a supply of clothes, and Avith affec- 
tionate letters from my mother and sisters. 

The next morning, aided by Scipio, I made my 
toilet with rather more care than usual, and de- 
scended the stairs with some trepidation, eager to 
see the original of the portrait which had been so 
completely pictured in my imagination. 

On entering the parlor, I found it deserted. 
Like the rest of the house, it was furnished in a 
foreign style. The curtains were of French silk ; 
there were Grecian couches, marble tables, pier- 
glasses, and chandeliers. Wliat chiefly attracted 
my eye, were documents of female taste that 1 
saw around me, — a piano, with an ample stock of 
Italian music ; a book of poetry lying on the 
sofa ; a vase of fresh flowers on a table, and a 
portfolio open with a skilful and half-finished 
sketch of them. In the window was a Canary 
l)ird, in a gilt cage ; and near by, the harp that 
had been in Julia's arms. Happy harp ! But 
wliere was the being that reigned in this little 
empire of delicacies ? — that breathed poetry and 
song, and dwelt among birds and flowers, and 
rose-colored curtains ? 

vSuddenly I heard the hall-door fly open, the 
qui 3k pattering of light steps, a wild, capricious 
strain of music, and the shrill barking of a dog. 
A light frolic nymph of fifteen came tripping into 
\he room, playing on a flageolet, with a little 
spaniel ramping after her. Her gypsy-hat had 
fallen back upon her shoulders ; a profusion of 



84 MOUNTJOY. 

glossy brown hair was blown in rich rin_<2^1ets 
about her face, which beamed through them with 
the brightness of smiles and dimples. 

At sight of me she stopped short, in the most 
beautiful confusion, stammered out a word or two 
about looking for her father, glided out of the 
door, and I heard her bounding up the staircase, 
like a frightened fawn, with the little dog barking 
after her. 

When Miss Somerville returned to the parlor, 
she was quite a different being. She entered, 
stealing along by her mother's side, with noiseless 
step and sweet timidity ; her hair was prettily 
adjusted, and a soft blush mantled on her damask 
cheek. Mr. Somerville accompanied the ladies, 
and introduced me regularly to them. There 
were many kind inquiries, and much sympathy 
expressed on the subject of my nautical accident, 
and some remarks upon the wild scenery of the 
neighborhood, with which the ladies seemed per- 
fectly acquainted. 

" You must know," said Mr. Somerville, " that 
we are great navigators, jind delight in exploring 
every nook and corner of the river. My daugh- 
ter, too, is a great Imnter of the picturesque, and 
transfers every rock and glen to her portfolio. 
By the way, my dear, show Mr. Mountjoy that 
pretty scene you have lately sketched." Julia 
complied, blushing, and drew from her portfolio a 
colored sketch. I almost started at the sight. It 
was my favorite brook. A sudden thought darted 
across my mind. I glanced down my eye, and 
beheld the divinest little foot in the world. Oh, 



MOUNTS OY. 85 

Missful conviction I The struggle of my affec- 
tions was at an end. The voice and the footstep 
were no longer at variance. Julia Somerville 
was the nymph of the fountain ! 

What convei-sation passed during breakfast I 
do not recollect, and hardly was conscious of at 
the time, for my thoughts were in complete con- 
fusion. I wished to gaze on Miss Somerville, 
but did not dare. Once, indeed, I ventured a 
glance. She was at that moment darting a simi- 
lar one from under a covert of ringlets. Our 
eyes seemed shocked by the rencontre, and fell ; 
hers through the natural modesty of her sex, 
mine through a bashfulness produced by the pre- 
vious workings of my imagination. That glance, 
Iiowever, went like a sunbeam to my heart. 

A convenient mirror favored my ditfidence, and 
gave me the reflection of Miss Somerville's form. 
It is true it only presented the back of her head, 
but she had the merit- of an ancient statue ; con- 
template her from any point of view, she was 
beautiful. And yet she was totally different from 
evei-ything I had before conceived of beauty. 
She was not the serene, meditative maid that I 
had pictured the nymph of the fountain ; nor tiie 
tali, soft, languishing, blue-eyed, dignified being 
that I liad fancied the minstrel of the harp. 
Tliere was notliing of dignity about her ; she 
_\vas girlisli in her appearance, and scarcely of the 
middle size ; but then there was tlie tenderness 
of budding youth ; the sweetness of tlie half- 
blown rose, when not a tint or perfume has been 



86 MOUNTJOY. 

withered or exhaled ; there were smiles and dim- 
ples, and all the soft witcheries of ever-varying 
expression. I wondered, that I could ever have 
admired any other style of beauty. 

After breakfast Mr. Somerville departed to 
attend to the concerns of his estate, and gave me 
in charge of the ladies. Mrs. Somerville also 
was called away by household cares, and I was 
left alone with Julia ! Here then was the situa- 
tion which of all others I had most coveted. I 
was in the presence of the lovely being that had 
so long been the desire of my heart. We were 
alone ; propitious opportunity for a lover ! Did 
I seize upon it ? Did I break out in one of my 
accustomed rhapsodies ? No such thing ! Never 
was being more awkwardly embarrassed. 

" What can be the cause of this ? " thought I. 
" Surely I caimot stand in awe of this }'oung girl. 
I am of course her superior in intellect, and am 
never embarrassed in company with my tutor, 
notwithstanding all his wisdom." 

It was passing strange. I felt that if she were 
an old woman, I should be quite at my ease ; if 
she were even an ugly woman, I should make out 
very well ; it was her beauty that overpowered 
me. How little do lovely women know Avhat 
awful beings they are, in the eyes of inexpe- 
rienced youth ! Young men brought up in the 
fashionable circles of our cities will smile at all 
this. Accustomed to mingle incessantly in female 
society, and to have the romance of the heart 
deadened by a thousand frivolous flirtations, 
women are nothing but women in their eyes ; 



MOUNTJOY. 87 

but to a susceptible youth like myself, brought 
up in the country, tliey are perfect divinities. 

Miss Somerville was at first a little embar- 
rassed herself; but, somehow or other, women 
have a natural adroitness in recovering their self- 
possession ; they are more alert in their minds 
and graceful in their manners. Besides, I was 
but an ordinary personage in Miss Somerville's 
eyes ; she was not under the influence of such a 
singular course of imaginings as had surrounded 
her, in my eyes, with the illusions of romance. 
Perhaps, too, she saw the confusion in the op- 
posite camp, and gained courage from the discov- 
ery. At any rate, she was the first to take the 
field. 

Her conversation, however, was only on com- 
monplace topics, and in an easy, well-bred style. 
I endeavored to respond in the same manner ; but 
I was strangely incompetent to the task. My 
ideas were frozen up ; even words seemed to fail 
me. I was excessively vexed at myself, for I 
wished to be uncommonly elegant. I tried two 
or three times to turn a pretty thought, or to 
uttei- a fine sentiment ; but it would come forth so 
trite, so forced, so mawkish, that I was ashamed of 
it. ISlj very voice sounded discordantly, though 
I sought to modulate it into the softest tones. 
" The truth is," thought I to myself, '' I cannot 
bring my mind down to the small talk necessary 
for young girls ; it is too masculine and robust 
(or the mincing measure of parlor gossip. I am 
a philosopher ; and that accounts for it." 

Tlie entrance of INIrs. Somerville at length 



88 MOUNTJOY. 

gave me relief. I at once breathed freely, and 
felt a vast deal of confidence come over me. 
*' This is strange," thought I, " that the appear- 
ance of another woman should revive my cour- 
age ; that I should be a better match for two 
women than one. However, since it is so, I will 
take advantage of the circumstance, and let this 
young lady see that 1 am not so great a simple- 
ton as she probably thinks me." 

I accordingly took up the book of poetry which 
lay upon the sofa. It was Milton's " Paradise Lost." 
Nothing could have been more fortunate ; it af- 
forded a fine scope for my favorite vein of gran- 
diloquence. T went largely into a discussion of 
its merits, or rather an enthusiastic eulogy of them. 
My observations were addressed to Mrs. Sorrrer- 
ville, for I found I could talk to her with more 
ease than to her daughter. She appeared per- 
fectly alive to the beauties of the poet, and dis- 
posed to meet me in the discussion ; but it was 
not my object to hear her talk ; it was to talk 
myself. I anticipated all she had to say, over- 
powered her with the copiousness of my ideas, 
and supported and illustrated them by long cita- 
tions from the author. 

While thus holding forth, I cast a side-glance 
to see how Miss Somerville was affected. She 
had some embroidery stretched on a frame before 
ber, but had paused in her labor, and was looking 
down, as if lost in mute attention. I felt a glow 
of self-satisfiiction ; but I recollected, at the same 
time, with a kind of pique, the advantage she had 
enjoyed over me in our tete-a-tete. I determined 



MOUNTJOY. 89 

to push my triumph, and accordingly kept on with 
redoubled ardor, until I had fairly exhausted my 
subject, or rather my thoughts. 

I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss 
Soinerville raised her eyes from the work on 
which they had been fixed, and turning to her 
mother, observed : " I have been considering, 
mamma, whether to work these flowers plain, 
or in colors." 

Had an ice-bolt been shot to my heart, it could 
not have chilled me more effectually. " What a 
fool," thought I, " have I been making myself, — 
squandering away fine thoughts and fine language 
upon a light mind and an ignorant ear 1 This 
girl knows nothing of poetry. She has no soul, 

fear, for its beauties. Can any one have real 
sensibility of heart, and not be alive to poetry ? 
However, she is young ; this part of her education 
has been neglected ; there is time enough to rem- 
edy it. I will be her preceptor. I will kindle 
in her mind the sacred flame, and lead her through 
the fairy land of song. But, after all, it is rather 
unfortunate that I should have fallen in love with 
a woman who knows nothing of poetry." 

I passed a day not altogether satisfactory. I 
was a little disappointed that Miss Somerville did 
not show more poetical feeling. " I am afraid, 
after all," said I to myself, " she is light and girl- 
ish, and more fitted to pluck wild flowers, play 
on the flageolet, and romp with little dogs, than 
to converse with a man of my tiu'u." 

I believe however, to tell the truth, I was more 



90 MOUNT JOY. 

out of humor with myself. I thought I had made 
the worst first appearance that ever hero made, 
either in novel or fairy tale. I was out of all 
patience when I called to mind my awkward 
attempts at ease and elegance, in the tete-a-tete. 
And then my intolerable long lecture about poetry, 
to catch the applause of a heedless auditor ! But 
there I was not to blame. I had certainly been 
eloquent ; it was her fault that the eloquence was 
wasted. To meditate upon the embroidery of a 
flower, when I was expatiating on the beauties 
of Milton ! She might at least have admired the 
poetry, if she did not relish the manner in which 
it was delivered ; though that was not despicable, 
for I had recited passages in my best style, which 
my mother and sisters had always considered equpl 
to a play. " Oh, it is evident," thought I, " Miss 
Somerville has very little soul ! " 

ibuch were my fancies and cogitations during 
the day, the greater part of which was spent in 
m}f chamber ; for I was still languid. My even- 
ing was passed in the drawing-room, where I 
overlooked Miss Somerville's portfolio of sketches. 
They were executed with great taste, and showed 
a nice observation of the peculiarities of Nature. 
They were all her own, and free from those cun- 
ning tints and touches of the draAving-master, by 
which young ladies' drawings, like their heads, 
are dressed up for company. There was no gar- 
ish and vulgar trick of colors, either ; all was ex- 
ecuted with singular truth and simplicity. 

" Aiid yet," thought I, " this little being, who 
has so pure an eye to take in, as in a limpid brook. 



MOUNT.TOY. 91 

all the o;racefiil forms and magic tints of Nature, 
has no soul for poetry ! " 

Mr. Somerville, toward the latter part of the 
ev^ening, observing my eye to wander occasionally 
to the harp, interpreted and met my wishes with 
his accustomed civility. 

" Julia, my dear," said he, " Mr. Mountjoy 
would like to hear a little music from your harp ; 
let us hear, too, the sound of your voice." 

Julia immediately complied, without any of 
that hesitation and difficulty by which young 
ladies are apt to make the company pay dear for 
bad music. She sang a sprightly strain, in a brill- 
iant style, that came trilling playfully over the 
ear ; and the bright eye and dimpling smile 
showed that her little heart danced with the 
song. lier pet Canary bird, who hung close by, 
was wakened by the music, and burst forth into 
an emulating strain. Julia smiled with a pretty 
air of defiance, and played louder. 

After some time the music changed, and ran 
into a plaintive strain, in a minor key. Then it 
was that all the former witchery of her voice came 
over me ; then it was that she seemed to sing 
from the heart and to the heart. Her fingers 
moved about the cliords as if they scarcely 
touched them. Her whole manner and appear- 
ance changed ; lier eyes beamed with the softest 
expression ; her countenance, her frame, — all 
seemed subdued into tenderness. She rose from 
the harp, leaving it still vibrating with sweet 
sounds, and moved toward her lather, to bid him 
good-night. 



92 MOUNTJOY. 

His eyes had been fixed on her. intently during 
her performance. As she caine before him, he 
parted her shining ringlets with both his hands, 
and looked down with the fondness of a father on 
her innocent tace. The music seemed still linger- 
ing in its lineaments, and the action of her father 
brought a moist gleam in her eye. He kissed her 
fair forehead, after the French mode of parental 
caressing : " Good-night, and God bless you," 
said he, " my good little girl ! " 

Julia tripped away with a tear in her eye, a 
dimple in her cheek, and a light heart in her 
bosom. I tliought it the prettiest picture of pa- 
ternal and filial affection I had ever seen. 

When I retired to bed a new train of thoughts 
crowded into my brain. " After all," said 1 to 
myself, " it is clear tliis girl has a soul, though 
Bhe was not moved by my eloquence. She has 
ail the outward signs and evidences of poetic feel- 
ing. She paints well, and has an eye tor Nature. 
She is a fine musician, and enters into the very 
soul of song. AVhat a pity that she knows noth- 
ing of poetry ! But we will see what is to be 
done. I am irretrievably in love with her ; what 
then am I to do ? Come down to the le\'el of 
her mind, or endeavor to raise her to some kind 
of intellectual equality with myself? That is the 
most generous course. She will look up to me as 
a benefactor. 1 shall become associated in her 
mind with the lofty thoughts and harmonious 
graces of poetry. She is ap[)arently docile ; be- 
sides, the difference of our ages will give me an 
ascendency over her. She cannot be above sixteen 



MOUNTJOY. 93 

years of age, and I am full turned of twenty." 
So, having built this most delectable of air-castles, 
I lell asleep. 

The next morning I was quite a different be- 
ing. I no longer felt fearful of stealing a glance 
at Julia ; on the contrary, I contemplated her 
steadily, with the benignant eye of a benefactor. 
Shortly after breakfast I found myself alone with 
her, as I had on the preceding morning ; but I 
felt nothing of the awkwardness of our previous 
tete-a-tete. I was elevated by the consciousness 
of my intellectual superiority, and should almost 
have felt a sentiment of pity for the ignorance of 
the lovely little being, if I had not felt also the 
assurance that I sliould be able to dispel it. 
" But it is time," thought I, " to open school." 

Julia was occupied in arranging some music 
on her piano. I looked over two or three songs ; 
they were Moore's Irish Melodies. 

" These are pretty things," said I, flirting the 
leaves ovci- lightly, and giving a slight shrug, by 
way of qualifying the opinion. 

" Oh, I love them of all things ! " said Julia, 
" they 're so touching ! " 

" Then you like them for the poetry ? " said I, 
with an encouraging smile. 

" Oh yes ; she thought them charmingly writ- 
ten." 

Now was my time. " Poetry," said I, assum- 
ing a didactic attitude and air, — " poetry is one of 
the most pleasing studies that can occupy a youth- 
ful mind. It renders us susceptible of the gentle 



94 MOUNTJOY. 

impulses of humanity, and cherishes a delicate 
perception of all that is virtuous and elevated in 
morals, and graceful and beautiful in physics. 
It " — 

I was going' on in a style that would have 
graced a professor of rhetoric, when I saw a light 
smile playing about Miss Somerville's mouth, and 
that she began to turn over the leaves of a music- 
book. I recollected her inattention to ray dis- 
course of the preceding morning. "• There is no 
fixing her light mind," thought I, " by abstract 
tlieory ; we will proceed practically." As it hap- 
pened, the identical volume of Milton's " Paradise 
Lost " was lying at hand. 

" Let me recommend to you, my young friend," 
said I, in one of those tones of persuasive admo- 
nition, which I had so often loved in Glencoe, — - 
" let me recommend to you this admirable poem : 
you will find in it sources of intellectual enjoy- 
ment far superior to those songs which have de- 
lighted you." Julia looked at the book, and then 
at me, with a whimsically dubious air. '' Milton's 
' Paradise Lost ' ? " said she ; " oh, I know the 
greater part of that by heart." 

I had not expected to find my pupil so far 
advanced ; however, the " Paradise Lost " is a kind 
of school-book, and its finest passages are given 
to young hidies as tasks. 

" I find," said I to myself, " I must not ti*eat 
her as so complete a novice ; her inattention, yes- 
terday, could not have proceeded from absolute 
ignorance, but merely from a want of poetic feel- 
ing. I '11 try her again." 



MOUNTJOY. 95 

I now determined to dazzle her with my own 
erudition, and hiimched into a harangue that would 
have done honor to an institute. Pope, Spenser. 
Chaucer, and the old dramatic writers, wei'e all 
di|)ped into, with the excursive flight of a swallow. 
I did not confine myself to English poets, but gave 
a glance at the French and Italian schools : I 
passed over Ariosto in full wing, but paused on 
Tasso's " Jerusalem Delivered." I dwelt on the 
character of Clorinda : " There 's a character," 
said I, " that you will find well worthy a woman's 
study. It shows to what exalted heights of hero- 
ism the sex can rise ; how gloriously they may 
share even in tiie stern concerns of men." 

" For my part," said Julia, gently taking advan- 
tage of a pause, — " for my part, I prefer the 
character of Sophronia." 

I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso ! 
This girl that I had been treating as an ignora- 
mus in poetry ! She proceeded, with a sliglit 
glow of the cheek, summoned up perhaps by a 
casual glow of feeling : — 

•' I do not admire those masculine heroines," 
said she, " who aim at the bold qualities of the 
opposite sex. Now Sophronia only exhibits the 
real qualities of a woman, wrought up to their 
highest excitement. She is modest, gentle, and 
retiring, as it becomes a woman to be ; but she 
has all the strength of affection pi'oper to a woman. 
She cannot fight for her people, as Clorinda does, 
but she can offer herself up, and die, to serve 
them. You may admire Clorinda, but you surely 
would be more apt to love Sophronia ; at least," 



96 MOUNTJOY. 

added she, suddenly appearing to recollect herself, 
and blushing at having launched into such a dis- 
cussion, — " at least, that is what papa observed, 
.vhen we read the poem together." 

" Indeed," said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted 
and nettled at being unexpectedly lectured by my 
pupil, — " indeed, I do not exactly recollect the 
passage." 

" Oh," said Julia, " I can repeat it to you ; " 
and she immediately gave it in Italian. 

Heavens and earth ! — here was a situation ! 
I knew no more of Italian than I did of the 
language of Psalmanazar. What a dilemma for 
a would-be-wise man to be placed in ! I saw 
Julia waited for my opinion. 

" In fact," said I, hesitating, "I — I do not ex- 
actly understand Italian." 

" Oh," said Julia, with the utmost naivete, " I 
have no doubt it is very beautiful in the transla- 
tion." 

I was glad to break up school and get back to 
my chamber, full of the mortification which a 
wise man in love experiences on finding his 
mistress wiser than himself. " Translation ! trans- 
lation ! " muttered I to myself, as I jerked the door 
shut behind me. " I am surprised my father has 
never had me instructed in the modern languages. 
They are all-important. What is the use of 
Latin and Greek ? No one speaks them ; but 
here, the .moment I make my appearance in the 
world, a little girl slaps Italian in my face. How- 
ever, thank Heaven, a language is easily learned. 
The moment I return home, I '11 set about study- 



MOUNT.] OY. 97 

ing Italian ; and to prevent future surprise, I will 
study Spanish and German at the same time ; and 
if any young lady attempts to quote Italian upon 
me again, I '11 bury her under a heap of High 
Dutch poetry ! " 

I felt now like some mighty chieftain, who has 
carried the war into a weak country, with full 
confidence of success, and been repulsed and 
obliged to draw off his forces from before some 
inconsiderable fortress. 

" However," thought I, " I have as yet brought 
only my light artillery into action ; we shall see 
what is to be done with my heavy ordnance. 
Julia is evidently well versed in poetry ; but it is 
natural she should be so ; it is allied to painting 
and music, and is congenial to the light graces of 
the female character. We will try her on graver 
themes." 

I felt all my pride awakened ; it even for a 
time swelled higher than my love. I w^as de- 
termined completely to establish my mental supe- 
riority, and subdue the intellect of this little 
being : it would then be time to sway tlie sceptre 
of gentle empire, and win the affections of her heart. 

Accordingly, at dinner I again took the field, 
€71 potence. I now addressed myself to Mr. Som- 
erville, for I was about to enter upon topics in 
which a young girl like her could not be well 
versed. I led, or rather forced, the conversation 
into a vein of historical erudition, discussing sev- 
eral of the most prominent facts of ancient history 
and accompanying them with sound, indisputable 
apothegms. 

7 



98 MOVNTJOY 

Mr. Somerville listened to me with the air of a 
man receiving^ information. I was encouraged, 
and went on gloriously from theme to theme of 
school declamation. 1 sat with Marius on the 
ruins of Carthage ; I defended the bridge with 
Horatius Codes ; thrust my hand into the flame 
with Martins Scasvola, and plunged with Curtius 
into the yawning gulf; I fought side by side 
with Leonidas, at the straits of Thermopylge ; and 
was going full drive into the battle of Plataea, 
when my memory, which is the worst in the 
world, failed me, just as I wanted the name of 
the Lacedemonian commander. 

" Julia, my dear," said Mr. Somerville, " per- 
haps you may recollect the name of which Mr. 
Mountjoy is in quest ? " 

Julia colored slightly : " I believe," said she, in 
a low voice, — " I believe it was Pausanias." 

This vmexpected sally, instead of reinforcing 
me, threw my whole scheme of battle into con- 
fusion, and the Athenians remained unmolested in 
the field. 

I am half inclined, since, to think Mr. Somer- 
ville meant this as a sly hit at my schoolboy 
pedantry ; but he was too well bred not to seek 
to relieve me from my mortification. " Oh ! " 
said he, " Julia is our family book of reference for 
names, dates, and distances, and has an excellent 
memory for history and geography." 

1 now became desperate ; as a last resource, I 
turned to metaphysics. " If she is a philosopher 
in petticoats," thought I, " it is all over with me." 

Here, however, I had the field to myself. I 



MOUNTJOY. 99 

gave chapter and verse of my tutor's lectures 
heigliteued by all his poetical illustrations : I 
even went farther thiin he had ever ventured, and 
plunged into such depths of metaphysics, that I 
was in danger of sticking in the mire at the bot- 
tom. Fortunately, I had auditors who apparently 
could not detect my flounderings. Neither Mr. 
Somerville nor his daughter offered the least in- 
terruption. 

When the ladies had retired, Mr. Somerville 
sat some time with me ; and as I was no longer 
anxious to astonish, I permitted myself to listen, 
and found that he was really agreeable. He was 
quite communicative, and from his conversation I 
was enabled to form a juster idea of his daughter's 
character, and the mode in which she liad been 
brought up. Mr. Somerville had mingled much 
with the world, and with what is termed fashion- 
able society. He had experienced its cold ele- 
gancies, and gay insincerities ; its dissipation of 
the spirits, and squanderings of the heai't. Like 
many men of the world, though he had wandered 
too far from Nature ever to return to it, yet he 
had the good taste and good feeling to look back 
fondly to its simple delights, and to determine that 
his ciiild, if possible, should never leave them. 
He had superintended her education with scrupu- 
lous care, storing her mind with the graces of 
polite literature, and with such knowledge as 
would enable it to furnish its own amusement and 
occupation, and giving her all the accomplislmients 
hat sweeten and enliven the circle of domestic 
life. He had been particularly sedulous to ex- 



100 MOUNTJOY. 

elude all fashionable affectations ; all false senti- 
ment, false sensibility, and false romance. " What- 
ever advantages she may possess," said he, " she 
is quite unconscious of them. She is a capricious 
little being, in everything but her affections ; she 
is, however, free from art ; simple, ingenuous, in- 
nocent, amiable, and, I thank God ! happy." 

Such was the eulogy of a fond father, delivered 
with a tenderness that touched me. 1 could not 
help making a casual inquiry whether, among the 
graces of polite literature, he had included a slight 
tincture of metaphysics. He smiled, and told 
me he had not. 

On the whole, when, as usual, that night, I 
summed up the day's observations on my pillow, 
I was not altogether dissatisfied. " Miss Somer- 
ville," said I, " loves poetry, and I like her the 
better for it. She has the advantage of me in 
Italian : agreed ; what is it to know a variety of 
languages, but merely to have a variety of sounds 
to express the same idea? Original thought is 
the ore of the mind ; language is but the acci- 
dental stamp and coinage, by which it is put into 
circulation. If I can furnish an original idea, 
what care I how many languages she can trans- 
late it into ? She may be able, also, to quote 
names, and dates, and latitudes, better than I; 
but that is a mere effort of the memory. I admit 
she is more accurate in history and geography 
than I ; but then she knows nothing of meta- 
physics." 

I had now sufficiently recovered to return 
home ; yet I could not think of leaving Mr. 



MOUNTJOY. 101 

Somerville'.s, without having a little farther con- 
versation with him on the subject of his daughter's 
education. 

" This Mr. Somerville," thought I, " is a verj? 
accomplished, elegant man ; he has seen a good 
deal of the world, and, upon the whole, has 
profited by what he has seen. He is not without 
information, and, as far as he thinks, appears to 
think correctly ; but after all, he is rather super- 
ficial, and does not think profoundly. He seems 
to take no delight in those metaphysical abstrac- 
tions that are tlie proper aliment of masculine 
minds." I called to mind various occasions in 
which I had indulged largely in metapliysical dis- 
cussions, but could recollect no instance where I 
had been able to draw him out. He had listened, 
it is true, with attention, and smiled as if in 
acquiescence, but had always appeared to avoid 
reply. Besides, I had made several sad blunders 
in the glow of eloquent declamation ; but he had 
never interrupted me, to notice and correct them, 
as he would have done had he been versed in the 
theme. 

" Now it is really a great pity," resumed I, 
'' that he should have the entire management of 
Miss Somerville's education. What a vast ad- 
vantage it would be, if she could be put for a 
little time under the superintendence of Glencoe. 
He would throw some deeper shades of thought 
into her mind, which at present is all sunshine ; 
not but tliat Mr. Somerville has done very well, 
as far as he has gone ; but then he has merely 
prepared the soil for the strong plants of useful 



102 MOUNTJOY. 

knowledge. She is well versed in the leading 
facts of liistory, and the general course of belles- 
lettres," said I ; " a little more philosophy would 
do wonders." 

I accordingly took occasion to ask Mr. Somer- 
ville for a few moments' conversation in his study, 
the morning I was to depart. When we were 
alone, I opened the matter fully to him. I com- 
menced with the warmest eulogium of Glencoe's 
powers of mind, and vast acquirements, and as- 
cribed to him all my proficiency in the higher 
branches of knowledge. I begged, therefore, to 
recommend him as a friend calculated to direct 
the studies of Miss Somerville ; to lead her mind, 
by degrees, to the contemplation of abstract prin- 
ciples, and to produce habits of philosophical 
analysis ; " which," added I, gently smiling, " are 
not often cultivated by young ladies." I ven- 
tured to hint, in addition, that he would find Mr. 
Glencoe a most valuable and interesting acquaint- 
ance for himself; one who would stimulate and 
evolve the powers of his mind ; and w^ho might 
open to him tracts of inquiry and speculation to 
which perhaps he had hitherto been a stranger. 

Mr. Somerville listened with grave attention. 
When I had finished, he thanked me in the po- 
litest manner for the interest I took in the welfare 
of his daughter and himself. He observed that, 
as regarded himself, he was afraid he was too old 
to benefit by the instructions of Mr. Glencoe, 
and that as to his daughter, he was afraid her 
mind was but little fitted for the study of meta- 
physics. " I do not wish," continued he, " to strain 



MOrXTJOY. 103 

her intellects with subjects they cannot grasp, but 
to make her familiarly acquainted with those that 
are within the limits of her capacity. I do not 
pretend to prescribe the boundaries of female 
genius, and am far fi-om indulging the vulgar 
opinion that women are unfitted by Nature for the 
liighest intellectual pursuits. I speak only with 
reference to my daughter's taste and talents. She 
will never make a learned woman ; nor in truth 
do I desire it ; for such is the jealousy of our 
sex, as to mental as well as physical ascendency, 
that a learned woman is not always the happiest. 
I do not wish my daughter to excite envy, nor 
to battle with the prejudices of the world ; but to 
glide peaceably through life, on the good will and 
kind opinion of her friends. She has ample em- 
ployment for her little head in the course I have 
marked out for her ; and is busy at present with 
some branches of natural history, calculated to 
awaken her perceptions to the beauties and won- 
ders of Nature, and to the inexhaustible volume of 
wisdom constantly spread open before her eyes. I 
consider tiiat woman most likely to make an agree- 
able companion, who can draw topics of pleasing 
remai'k from every natural object ; and most likely 
to be cheerful and contented, who is continually 
sensible of the order, the harmony, and the inva- 
riable beneficence that reign throughout the beau- 
tiful world we inhabit. 

" But," added he, smiling, " I am betraying 
myself into a lecture, instead of merely giving a 
reply to your kind offer. Permit me to take the 
liberty, in return, of inquiring a little about your 



104 MOUNTJOY. 

own pursuits. You speak of having finished youi 
education ; but of course you have a line of pri- 
vate study and mental occupation marked out ; 
for you must know the importance, both in point 
of interest and happiness, of keeping the mind 
employed. May I ask what system you observe 
in your intellectual exercises ? " 

" Oh, as to system," I observed, " I could never 
bring myself into anything of the kind. I thought 
it best to let my genius take its own course, as it 
always acted the most vigorously when stimulated 
by inclination." 

Mr. Somerville shook his head. " This same 
genius," said he, " is a wild quality, that runs 
away with our most promising young men. It 
has become so much the fashion, too, to give it 
the reins, that it is now thought an animal of too 
noble and generous a nature to be brought to the 
harness. But it is all a mistake. Nature never 
designed these high endowments to run riot 
through society, and throw the whole system 
into confusion. No, my dear sir ; genius, unless 
it acts upon system, is very apt to be a useless 
quality to society; sometimes an injurious, and 
certainly a very uncomfortable one, to its pos- 
sessor. I have had many opportunities of seeing 
the progress through life of young men who were 
accounted geniuses, and have found it too often 
end in early exhaustion and bitter disappoint- 
ment ; and have as often noticed that these effects 
might be traced to a total want of system. There 
were no habits of business, of steady purpose, 
and regular application superinduced upon the 



MOUNT JOY. 106 

mind ; everything was left to chance and impulse 
and native luxuriance, and everything of course 
ran to waste and wild entanglement. Excuse 
me if I am tedious on this point, for I feel so- 
licitous to impress it upon you, being an error ex- 
tremely prevalent in our country, and one into 
which too many of our youth have fallen. I am 
happy, however, to observe the zeal which still 
appears to actuate you for the acquisition of 
knowledge, and augur every good from the ele- 
vated bent of your ambition. May I ask what 
has been your course of study for the last six 
months ? " 

Never was question more unluckily timed. 
For the last six months I had been absolutely 
buried in novels and romances. 

Mr, Soinerviile perceived that the question 
was embarrassing, and with his invariable good 
breeding, immediately resumed the conversation, 
without waiting for a reply. He took care, how- 
ever, to turn it in such a way as to draw from 
me an account of the whole manner in which I 
had been educated, and the various currents of 
reading into which my mind had run. He then 
went on to discuss briefly, but impressively, the 
different branches of knowledge most important 
to a young man in my situation ; and to my sur- 
prise I found him a complete master of those 
studies on which I had supposed him ignorant, 
and on which I had been descanting so confi- 
dently. 

He complimented me, however, very graciously, 
upon the progress I had made, but advised me 



106 MOUNTJOY. 

for the present to turn my attention to the phys- 
ical rather than the moral sciences. " These 
studies," said he, " store a man's mind with valua- 
ble facts, and at the same time repress self- 
confidence, by letting him know how boundless 
are the realms of knowledge, and how little we 
can possibly know. Whereas metaphysical stud- 
ies, though of an ingenious order of intellectual 
employment, are apt to bewilder some minds with 
vague speculations. They never know how far 
they have advanced, or what may be the correct- 
ness of their favorite theory. They render many 
of our young men verbose and declamatory, and 
prone to mistake the aberrations of their fancy 
for the inspirations of divine philosophy." 

I could not but interrupt him, to assent to the 
truth of these remarks, and to say that it had 
been my lot, in the course of my limited expe- 
rience, to encounter young men of the kind, who 
bad overwhelmed me by their verbosity. 

Mr. Somerville smiled. " I trust," said he 
kindly, " that you will guard against these errors. 
Avoid the eagerness with which a young man is 
apt to hurry into conversation, and to utter the 
crude and ill-digested notions which he has picked 
up in his recent studies. Be assured that exten- 
sive and accurate knowledge is the slow acquisi- 
tion of a studious lifetime ; that a young man, 
however pregnant his wit and prompt his talent, 
can have mastered but the rudiments of learning, 
and, in a manner, attained the implements of 
study. Whatever may have been your past 
assiduity, you must be sensible that as yet you 



MOUNT JOY. 107 

have but reached the threshold of true knowl- 
edge ; but at the same time, you have the ad- 
vantage that you are still very young, and have 
ample time to learn." 

Here our conference ended. I walked out of 
the study, a very different being from what I was 
on entering it. I had gone in with the air of a 
professor about to deliver a lecture ; I came out 
like a student, who had failed in his examination, 
and been degraded in his class. 

" Very young," and " on the threshold of knowl- 
edge ! " This was extremely flattering to one who 
had considered himself an accomplished scholar 
and profound philosopher ! 

" It is singular," thought I ; '- there seems to 
have been a spell upon my faculties ever since I 
have been in this house. I certainly have not 
been able to do myself justice. Whenever I have 
undertaken to advise, I have had the tables turned 
upon me. It must be that I am strange and dif- 
fident among people I am not accustomed to. I 
wish they could hear me talk at home ! " 

"After all," added I, on farther reflection, — 
" after all, there is a great deal of force in what 
Mr. Somerville has said. Some how or other, 
these men of the world do now and then hit upon 
remarks that would do credit to a philosopher. 
Some of his general observations came so home, 
tliat I almost thought they were meant for my- 
self His advice about adopting a system of 
study, is very judicious. I will immediately put 
it in practice. My mind shall operate hencefor- 
ward with the regularity of clock-work." 



108 



MOUNTJOY. 



How far I succeeded in adopting this plan, how 
I fared in the farther pursuit of knowledge, and 
how I succeeded in my suit to Julia Somerville, 
may afford matter for a farther communication to 
the public, if this simple record of my early life 
is fortunate enough to excite any curiosity. 





THE BERMUDAS. 



A SHAKSPEAKIAN RESEARCH. 




"Who did not think, till within these foure yeares, but that 
these islands had been rather a habitation for Divells, than tit 
for men to dwell in ? Who did not hate the name, when hee 
was on land, and shun the place when he was on the seas? 
But behold the misprision and conceits of the world! For 
true and large experience hath now told us, it is one of the 
sweetest paradises that be upon earth." 

"A Plaine Desckipt. of the Barmudas:" 1613. 

N the course of a voyage home from 
England, our ship had been struggling, 
for two or three weeks, with perverse 
head-winds and a stormy sea. It was in the 
month of May, yet the weather had at times a 
wintry sharpness, and it was apprehended that we 
were in the neighborhood of floating islands of 
ice, which at that season of *he year drift out 
of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and sometimes 
occasion the wreck of noble ships. 

Wearied out by the continued opposition of the 
elements, our captain bore away to the south, in 
hopes of catching the expiring breath of the trade- 
winds, and making what is called the southern 
passage. A few days wrought, as it were, a 



110 THE BERMUDAS. 

magical " sea change " in everything around us. 
We seemed to emerge into a different world. The 
late dark and angry sea, lashed up into roaring 
and swashing surges, became calm and sunny ; 
the rude winds died away ; and gradually a light 
bi'eeze sprang up directly aft, filling out every sail, 
and wafting us smoothly along on an even keel. 
The air softened into a bland and delightful tem- 
perature. Dolphins began to play about us ; the 
nautilus came floating by, like a fairy ship, with 
its mimic sail and rainbow tints ; and flying-fish, 
from time to time, made their short excursiv^e 
flights, and occasionally fell upon the deck. The 
cloaks and overcoats in wliich we had hitherto 
wrapped ourselves, and moped about the vessel, 
were thrown aside ; for a summer warmth had 
succeeded to the late wintry chills. Sails were 
stretched as awnings over the quarter-deck, to 
protect us from the midday sun. Under these 
we lounged away the day, in luxurious indolence, 
musing, with half-shut eyes, upon the quiet ocean. 
The night was scarcely less beautiful than the 
day. The rising moon sent a quivering column 
of silver along the undulating surface of the deep, 
and, gradually climbing the heaven, lit up our 
towering topsails and SAvelling mainsails, and 
spread a pale, mysterious light around. As our 
ship made her whispering way through this dreamy 
world of waters, every boisterous sound on board 
was charmed to silence ; and the low whistle, or 
drowsy song, of a sailor from the forecastle, or the 
tinkling of a guitar, and the soft warbling of a 
female voice from the quarter-deck, seemed to 



THE BERMUDAS. Ill 

derive a witching melody from the scene and 
hour. I was reminded of Oberon's exquisite de- 
scription of music and moonlight on the ocean : — 

.... " Thou rememberest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music." 

Indeed, I was in the very mood to conjure up 
all the imaginary beings with which poetry has 
peopled old Ocean, and almost ready to fancy I 
lieard the distant song of the mermaid, or the 
mellow shell of the triton, and to picture to my- 
self Neptune and Amphitrite with all their pageant 
sweeping along the dim, horizon. 

A day or two of such fanciful voyaging brought 
us in sight of the Bermudas, which first looked 
like mere summer clouds, peering above the quiet 
ocean. All day we glided along in sight of them, 
with just wind enough to fill our sails ; and never 
did land appear more lovely. They were clad in 
emerald verdure, beneath the serenest of skies : not 
an angry wave broke upon their quiet shores, and 
small fishing craft, riding on the crystal waves, 
seemed as if hung in air. It was such a scene 
that Fletclier pictured to himself, when he ex- 
tolled the halcyon lot of the fisherman : — 

"Ah ! would thou knewest how much it better were 
To bide among the simple fisher-swains : 
No shrieking owl, no night-crow lodgeth here, 
Nor is our simple pleasure mixed with pains- 



112 THE BERMUDAS. 

Our sports begin with the begiruiing rear: 

\n. cahns, to pidJ the leaping fish to land; 

In loughs, to sing and dance along the yellow sand." 

In contemplating these beautiful islands, and I 
the peaceful sea around them, I could hardly re- 
alize that these were the " still vexed Bermoothes " 
of Shakspeare, once the dread of mariners, and 
infamous in the narratives of the early discover 
ers, for the dangers and disasters which beset 
them. Such, however, was the case ; and the 
ishuids derived additional interest in my eyes, 
from fancying that I could trace in their early 
history, and in the superstitious notions connected 
with them, some of the elements of Shakspeare's 
wild and beautiful drama of the " Tempest." I 
shall take the liberty of citing a few historical facts 
in support of this idea, which may claim some 
additional attention from the American reader, %s 
being connected with the first settlement of Vir- 
ginia. 

At the time when Shakspeare was in the ful- 
ness of his talent, and seizing upon everything 
that could furnish aliment to his imagination, the 
colonization of Virginia was a favorite object of 
enterprise among people of condition in England, 
and several of the courtiers of the court of Queen 
Elizabeth were personally engaged in it. In the 
year 1 609 a noble armament of nine ships and 
five hundred men sailed for the relief of the colony. 
It was commanded by Sir George Somers, as ad- 
miral, a gallant and generous gentleman, above 
sixty years of age, and possessed of an ample 
fortune, yet still bent upon hardy enterprise, and 



THE BERMUDAS. 113 

ambitious of signalizing himself in the service of 
his country. 

On board of his flag-ship, the Sea - Vulture, 
sailed also Sir Thomas Gates, lieutenant-general 
of the colony. Tlie voyage was long and boister- 
ous. On the twenty-fifth of July the admiral's 
ship was separated from the rest in a hurricane. 
For several days she was driven about at the 
mercy of the elements, and so strained and racked 
that her seams yawned open, and her hold was 
half filled with water. The storm subsided, but 
left her a mere foundering wreck. The crew stood 
in the hold to their waists in water, vainly endeav- 
oring to bale her with kettles, buckets, and other 
vessels. The leaks rapidly gained on them, while 
their strength was as rapidly declining. They lost 
all hope of keeping the ship afloat, until they 
should reach the American coast ; and wearied 
with fruitless toil, determined, in their despair, 
to give up all farther attempt, shut down the 
hatches, and abandon themselves to Providence. 
Some, who had spirituous liquors, or " comforta- 
ble waters," as the old record quaintly terms 
them, brought them forth, and shared them with 
their comrades, and they all drank a sad farewell 
to one another, as men who were soon to part 
company in this world. 

In this moment of extremity, the worthy ad- 
miral, who kept sleepless watch from the high 
stern of the vessel, gave the thrilling cry of 
" land ! " All rushed on deck, in a frenzy of joy, 
}ind nothing now was to be seen or heard on 
bij;ird but the transports of men who felt as if 



114 THE BER M UDAS. 

rescued from the grave. It is true the land in 
sight would not, in ordinary circumstances, have 
inspired much self-gratulation. It could be nothing 
else but the group of islands called after their ■ 
discoverer, one Juan Bermudas, a Spaniard, but ; 
stigmatized among the mariners of those days as ; 
" the islands of devils ! " " For the islands of the 
Bermudas," says the old narrative of this voyage, 
" as every man knoweth that hath heard or read 
of them, were never inhabited by any Christian 
or heathen people, but were ever esteemed and 
reputed a most prodigious and inchanted place, . 
affording nothing but gusts, stormes, and foul 
weather, which made every navigator and mari- 
ner to avoid them as Scylla and Charybdis, or as 
they would shun the Divell himself." * 

Sir George Somers and his tempest-tossed com- 
rades, however, hailed them with rapture, as if 
they had been a terrestrial paradise. Every sail I 
was spread, and every exertion made to urge the 
foundering ship to land. Before long she struck 
upon a rock. Fortunately, the late stormy winds 
had subsided, and there was no surf A swelling ;| 
wave lifted her from off the rock, and bore her to i 
another ; and thus she was borne on from rock to i 
rock, until she remained wedged between two, as ' 
firmly as if set upon the stocks. The boats were 
immediately lowered, and, though the shore was 
above a mile distant, the whole crew were landed I 
in safety. 

Every one had now his task assigned him.. 
Some made all haste to unload the ship, before i 

* A Plaint Description of the Barmudas. 



THE BERMUDAS. 115 

Bhe should go to pieces ; some constructed wig- 
wams of palmetto-leaves, and others ranged the 
island in quest of wood and water. To their 
surprise and joy, they found it far different from 
the desolate and frightful place they had been 
taught by seamen's stories to expect. It was 
well wooded and fertile ; there were birds of 
various kinds, and herds of swine roaming about, 
the progeny of a number that had swum ashore, 
in former years, from a Spanisli wreck. The 
islands abounded with turtle, and great quantities 
of their eggs were to be found among the rocks. 
The bays and inlets were full of fish, so ta,me, 
that if any one stepped into the water, they 
would throng around him. Sir George Somers, 
in a little while, caught enough with hook and 
line to furnish a meal to his whole ship's com- 
pany. Some of them were so large that two 
were as much as a man could carry. Craw-fish, 
also, were taken in abundance. The air was soft 
and salubrious, and the sky beautifully serene. 
Waller, in his " Summer Islands," has given us a 
faithful picture of the climate : — 

" For the kind spring, (which but salutes us here,) 
Inhabits these, and courts them all the year: 
Eipe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live ; 
At once they promise, and at once they give: 
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncursed, 
To show how all things were created lirst." 

We may imagine the feelings of the ship- 
wreck(;d mariners on finding themselves cast by 
Btorniy seas upon so happy a coast, where abun- 



116 THE BERMUDAS. 

dance was to be had without labor ; whi^re what 
in other climes constituted the costly luxuries of 
the rich, were witliin every man's reach ; and 
where life promised to be a mere holiday. Many 
of the common sailors, especially, declared they 
desired no better lot than to pass the rest of 
their lives on this favored island. 

The commanders, however, were not so ready 
to console themselves with mere physical com- 
forts, for the severance from the enjoyment of 
cultivated life and all the objects of honorable 
ambition. Despairing of the arrival of any chance 
ship on these shunned and dreaded ishinds, they 
fitted out the long-boat, making a deck of the 
ship's hatches, and having manned her with eight 
picked men, despatched her, under the command 
of an able and hardy mariner, named Raven, to 
proceed to Virginia, and procure shipping to be 
sent to their relief 

While waiting in anxious idleness for the arri- 
val of the looked-for aid, dissensions arose be- 
tween Sir George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, 
originating, very probably, in jealousy of the lead 
which the nautical experience and professional j 
station of the admiral gave him in the present { 
emergency. Each commander of course had hm 
adherents ; these dissensions ripened into a com- 
plete schism ; and this handful of shipAvrecked 
men, thus thrown together on an uninhabited 
island, separated into two parties, and lived asun- 
der in bitter feud, as men rendered fickle by 
prosperity, instead of being brought into brother- 
hood by a common calamity. 



77/ A- BERMUDAS. 117 

Weeks and months elapsed without bringing 
the looked-for aid from Virginia, tliough that 
colony was within but a few days' sail. Fears 
were now entertained that the long-boat had been 
either swallowed up in the sea, or wrecked on 
some savage coast ; one or other of which most 
probably was the case, as nothing was ever heard 
of Raven and his comrades. 

Each party now set to work to build a vessel 
for itself out of the cedar with which the island 
abounded. The wreck of the Sea-Vulture fur- 
nished rigging and various other articles ; but 
they had no iron for bolts and other fastenings ; 
and for want of pitch and tar, they payed the 
seams of their vessels with lime and turtle's oil, 
which soon dried, and became as hard as stone. 

On the tenth of May, 1610, they set sail, hav- 
ing been about nine months on the island. They 
reached Virginia without farther accident, but 
found the colony in great distress for provisions. 
The account that they gave of the abundance 
that reigned in the Bermudas, and especially of 
the herds of swine that roamed the island, deter- 
mined Lord Delaware, the governor of Virginia, 
to send thither for supplies. Sir George Somers, 
witli his wonted promptness and generosity, of- 
fered to undertake what was still considered a dan- 
gerous voyage. Accordingly on the nineteenth 
of June he set sail, in his own cedar vessel of 
thirty tons, accompanied by another small vessel, 
connnauJed by Captain Argall. 

The gallant Somers was doomed again to be 
tempest-tossed. His companion vessel was soon 



118 THE BERMUDAS. 

driven back to port, but he kept the sea ; and, as 
usual, remained at his post on deck in all weathers. 
His voyage was long and boisterous, and the fa- 
tigues and exposures which he underwent were 
too much for a fi'ame impaired by age and by 
previous hardships. He arrived at Bermudas 
completely exhausted and broken down. 

His nephew. Captain Matthew Somers, at- 
tended him in his illness with affectionate assiduity. 
Finding his end approaching, the veteran called 
his men together, and exhorted them to be true 
to the interests of Virginia; to procure provi- 
sions, with all possible despatch, and hasten back 
to the relief of the colony. 

With this dying charge he gave up the ghost, 
leaving his nephew and crew overwhelmed with 
grief and consternation. Their first thought was 
to pay honor to his remains. Opening the body, 
they took out the heart and entrails, and buried 
them, erecting a cross over the grave. They then 
embalmed the body, and set sail with it for Eng- 
land ; thus, while paying empty honors to their 
deceased commander, neglecting his earnest wish 
and dying injunction, that they should return 
with relief to Virginia. 

The little bark arrived safely at Whitechurch 
in Dorsetshire, with its melancholy freight. The 
body of the worthy Somers was interred with 
the military honors due to a brave soldier, and 
many volleys fired over his grave. The Bermu- j 
das have since received the name of the Somer ' 
Islands, as a tribute to his memory. 

The accounts given by Captain Matthew Somers^ 



THE BERMUDAS. 119 

and his crew of the delightful climate, and the 
great beauty, fertility, and abundance of these 
islands, excited the zeal of enthusiasts and the 
cupidity of speculators, and a plan was set on 
foot to colonize them. The Virginia company 
sold their right to the islands to one hundred and 
twenty of their own members, who erected them- 
selves into a distinct corporation, under the name 
of the " Somer Island Society " ; and Mr. Rich- 
ard More was sent out, in 1612, as governor, 
with sixty men, to found a colony ; and this leads 
me to the second branch of this research. 



THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA, 

AND THEIR TREASURE OF AMBERGRIS. 

At the time that Sir George Somers was pre- 
paring to launch his cedar-built bark, and sail for 
Virginia, there were three culprits among his 
men who had been guilty of capital offences. 
One of them was shot ; the others, named Chris- 
topher Carter and Edward Waters, escaped. 
Waters, indeed, made a very narrow escape, for 
he had actually been tied to a tree to be exe- 
cuted, but cut the rope with a knife, which he 
had concealed about his person, and fled to the 
woods, where he was joined by Carter. These 
two worthies kept themselves concealed in the 
secret parts of the island, until the departure of 
the two vessels. When Sir George Somers 
revisited the island, in quest of supplies for the 



120 THE BERMUDAS. 

Virginia colony, these culprits hovered about the 
landing-place, and succeeded in persuading an- 
other seaman, named Edward Chard, to join 
them, giving him the most seductive picture 
of the ease and abundance in which they rev- 
elled. 

When the bark that bore Sir George's body 
to England had faded from the watery horizon, 
these three vagabonds walked forth in their maj- 
esty and might, the lords and sole inhabitants 
of these islands. For a time their little com- 
monwealth went on prosperously and happily. 
They built a house, sowed corn, and the seeds of 
various fruits ; and having plenty of hogs, wild 
fowl, and fish of all kinds, with turtle in abun- 
dance, carried on their tripartite sovereignty with 
great harmony and much feasting. All king- 
doms, however, are doomed to revolution, convul- 
sion, or decay ; and so it fared with the empire 
of the three kings of Bermuda, albeit they were 
monarchs without subjects. In an evil hour, in 
their search after turtle, among the fissures of the 
rocks, they came upon a great treasure of amber- 
gris, which had been cast on shore by the ocean. 
Besides a number of pieces of smaller dimen- 
sions, there was one great mass, the largest that 
had ever been known, weighing eighty pounds, 
and which of itself, according to the markt.t 
value of ambergris in those days, was worth 
about nine or ten thousand pounds. 

From that moment the happiness and harmony 
of the three kings of Bermuda were gone for- 
ever. While poor devils, with nothing to share 



THE BERMUDAS. 121 

but the cornraoii blessings of the island, which 
administered to present enjoyment, but had noth- 
ing of convertible value, they were loving and 
united ; but hei-e was actual wealth, which would 
make them rich men whenever they could trans- 
port it to market. 

Adieu the delights of the island ! They now 
became flat and insipid. Each pictured to him- 
self the consequence he might now aspire to, in 
civilized life, could he once get there with this 
mass of ambergris. No longer a poor Jack Tar, 
frolicking in the low taverns of Wapping, he 
might roll through London in his coach, and per- 
chance arrive, like Whittington, at the dignity of 
Lord JMayor. 

With riches came envy and covetousness. Each 
was now for assuming the supreme power, and 
getting the monopoly of the ambergris. A civil 
war at length broke out : Cliard and Waters de- 
lied each other to mortal combat, and the kingdom 
of tlie Bermudas was on the point of being deluged 
with royal blood. Fortunately, Carter took no 
part in the bloody feud. Ambition might have 
made him view it with secret exultation ; for if 
either or both of his brother potentates were slain 
in the conflict, he would be a gainer in purse and 
ambergris. But he dreaded to be left alone in 
this uninhabited island, and to find himself the 
monarch of a solitude ; so he secretly purloined 
and hid the weapons of the belligerent rivals, who, 
having no means of carrying on the war, gradually 
cooled down into a sullen armistice. 

The arrival of Governor More, with an over 



122 THE BERMUDAS. 

powering force of sixty men, put an end to the 
empire. He took possession of the kingdom, in 
the name of the Somer Island Company, and 
forthwith proceeded to make a settlement. The 
three kings tacitly relinquished their sway, but 
stood up stoutly for their treasure. It was de- 
termined, however, that they had been fitted out 
at the expense, and employed in the service, of 
the Virginia Company ; that they had found the 
ambergris while in the service of that company, 
and on that company's land ; that the ambergris 
therefore belonged to that company, or rather to 
the Somer Island Company, in consequence of 
their recent purchase of the island, and all their 
appurtenances. Having thus legally established 
their right, and being, moreover, able to back it 
by might, the company laid the lion's paw upon 
ihe spoil ; and nothing more remains on historic 
record of the Three Kings of Bermuda and their 
lieasure of ambergris. 

The reader will now determine whether I am 
moi-e extravagant than most of the commentators 
on Shakspeare, in my surmise that the story of Sir 
(xeorge Somers's shipwreck, and the subsequent 
occurrences that took place on the uninhabited 
island, may have furnished the bard with some 
of the elements of his drama of the " Tempest." 
The tidings of the shipwreck, and of the incidents 
connected with it, reached England not long be- 
fore the production of this drama, and made a 
great sensation there. A narrative of the whole 
matter, from which most of the foregoing par- 



THE BERMUDAS. 123 

ticulars are extracted, was published at the time 
in London, in a pamphlet form, and covild not fail 
to be eagerly perused by Shakspeare, and to 
make a vivid impression on his fancy. His ex- 
pression, in the " Tempest," of " the still vext Ber- 
moothes," accords exactly with the storm-beaten 
character of those islands. The enchantments, 
too, with which he has clothed the island of Pros- 
pero, may they not be traced to the wild and 
superstitious notions entertained about the Ber- 
mudas ? I have already cited two passages from 
a pamphlet published at the time, showing that 
they were esteemed " a most prodigious and in- 
chanted place," and the " habitation of divells " ; 
and another pamphlet, published shortly after- 
ward, observes : " And whereas it is reported 
that this land of the Barmudas, with the islands 
about, (which are many, at least an hundred,) are 
inchanted, and kept with evil and wicked spirits, 
it is a most idle false report." * 

The description, too, given in the same pam- 
phlets of the real beauty and fertility of the Ber- 
mudas, and of their serene and happy climate, so 
opposite to the dangerous and inhospitable char- 
acter with which they had been stigmatized, 
accords with the eulogium of Sebastian on the 
island of Prospero : — 

" Though this island seem to be desert, uninabitable, and 
ahiiost inaccessible, it must needs be of subtle, tender, and 
delicate temperance. The air breathes upon us here most 
Bweetly. Here is every thing advantageous to life. How 
ush and lusty the grass looks ! how green ! " 

* Newvs from the Barmudas: 1612. 



124 THE BERMUDAS. 

I think too, in the exulting consciousness of 
ease, security, and abundance, felt by the late 
cempest-tossed mariners, while revelling in the 
plenteousness of the island, and their inclination to 
remain there, released from the labors, the cares, 
and the artificial restraints of civilized life, I can 
see something of the golden commonwealth of 
honest Gonzalo : — 

" Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, 
And were the king of it, what would I do? 
r the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit; no name of magistrate. 
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: 
No occupation ; all men idle, all. 

All things in common, nature should produce, 
Without sweat or endeavor: Treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth. 
Of its own kind all foizon, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people." 

But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds 
who remained in possession of the island of Ber- 
muda, on the departure of their comrades, and in 
their squabbles about supremacy, on the finding 
of their treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trin- 
culo, and their worthy companion Caliban : — 

" Trinculo, the king and all our company being drowned, 
we will inherit here." 

" Monster, I will kill this man ; his daughter and I will be 
king and queen, (save our graces!) and Trinculo and thyself 
shall be viceroys." 



TUE BERMUDAS. ' 125 

I do not mean to hold up the incidents and 
characters in the narrative and in the play as 
parallel, or as being strikingly similar : neither 
would I insinuate that the narrative suggested 
the play ; I would only suppose that Shakspeare, 
being occupied about that time on the drama of 
the " Tempest," the main story of which, I believe, 
is of Italian origin, had many of the fanciful ideas 
of it suggested to his mind by the shipwreck of 
Sir George Somers on the " still vext Ber- 
moothes," and by the popular superstitions con- 
nected with these islands, and suddenly put in 
circulation by that event. 





^^ 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL; 



OK, A JUDICIAL TRIAL BY COMBAT. 




HE world is daily growing older and 
wiser. Its institutions vary with its 
years, and mark its growing wisdom ; 
and none more so than its modes of investio-atino; 
truth, and ascertaining guilt or innocence. In its 
nonage, when man was yet a fallible being, and 
doubted the accuracy of his own intellect, appeals 
were made to Heaven in dark and doubtful cases 
of atrocious accusation. 

The accused was required to plunge his hand 
in boiling oil, or to walk across red-hot plough- 
shares, or to maintain his innocence in armed 
fight and listed field, in person or by champion. 
If he passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood 
acquitted, and the result was regarded as a ver- 
dict from on high. 

It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant 
age of chivalry, the gentler sex should have been 
most frequently the subjects of these rude trials 
and perilous ordeals ; and that, too, when assailed 
in their most delicate and vulnerable part, — their 
honor. 

In the present very old and enlightened age 
of the world, when the human intellect is per- 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 127 

ectly competent to the management of its own 
concerns, and needs no special interposition of 
Heaven in its affairs, the trial by jury has super- 
seded these superhuman ordeals ; and the una- 
nimity of twelve discordant minds is necessary to 
constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity would, 
at first sight, appear also to require a miracle from 
Pleaven ; but it is produced by a simple device of 
human ingenuity. The twelve jurors are locked 
up in their box, there to fast until abstinence 
shall have so clarified their intellects that the 
whole jarring panel can discern the truth, and 
concur in a unanimous decision. One point is 
certain, that truth is one and is immutable ; 
until the jurors all agree, they cannot all be right. 
It is not our intention, however, to discuss this 
great judicial point, or to question the avowed 
superiority of the mode of investigating truth 
adopted in this antiquated and very sagacious 
era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the 
curious reader one of the most memorable cases 
of judicial combat we find in the annals of Spain. 
It occurred at the bright commencement of the 
reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, glorious 
days of Roderick the Goth ; who subsequently 
tarnished his fame at home by his misdeeds, and, 
finally, lost his kingdom and his life on the banks 
of the Guadalete, in that disastrous battle which 
gave up Spain a conquest to the Moors. The 
following is the story : — 

There was once upon a time a certain Duke of 
Lorraine, who was acknowledged throughout his 



128 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 

domains to be one of the wisest princes that ever 
lived. In fact there was no one measure adopted 
by him that did not astonish his privy councillors 
nnd gentlemen in attendance ; and he said such 
witty things, and made such sensible speeches, 
that the jaws of his high chamberlain were well- 
nigh dislocated from laughing with delight at one, 
and gaping with wonder at the other. 

This very witty and exceedingly wise poten- 
tate lived for half a century in single blessedness ; 
at length his courtiers began to think it a great 
pity so wise and wealthy a prince should not have 
a child after his own likeness, to inherit his talents 
and domains ; so they urged him most respectfully 
to marry, for the good of his estate and the welfare 
of his subjects. 

He turned their advice over in his mind some 
four or five years, and then sent forth emissaries 
to summon to his court all the beautiful maidens 
in the land, who were ambitious of sharing a ducal 
crown. The court was soon crowded with beau- 
ties of all styles and complexions, from among 
whom he chose one in the earliest budding of her 
charms, and acknowledged by all the gentlemen 
to be unparalleled for grace and loveliness. The 
courtiers extolled the duke to the skies for mak- 
ing such a choice, and considered it another proof 
of his great wisdom. " The duke," said they, 
" is waxing a little too old ; the damsel, on the 
other hand, is a little too young ; if one is lacking 
in years, the other has a superabundance ; thus a 
want on one side is balanced by an excess on the 
othei-, and the result is a well-assorted marriage." 



THE WJDOW'S ORDEAL. 129 

The duke, us is often the case with wise men 
who many rather late, and take damsels rather 
youthful to their bosoms, became dotingly fond 
of his wife, and very properly indulged her in all 
things. He was, consequently, cried up by his 
subjects in general, and by the ladies in partic- 
ular, as a pattern for husbands ; and, in the end, 
from the wonderful docility with which he sub- 
mitted to be reined and checked, acquired the 
amiable and enviable appellation of Duke Phili- 
bert the wife-ridden. 

There was only one thing that disturbed the 
conjugal felicity of this paragon of husbands : 
though a considerable time elapsed after his mar- 
riage, there was still no prospect of an heir. The 
good duke left no means untried to propitiate 
Heaven. Pie made vows and pilgrimages, he 
fasted and he prayed, but all to no purpose. The 
courtiers were all astonished at the circumstance. 
They could not account for it. While the mean- 
est peasant in the country had sturdy brats by 
dozens, without putting up a prayer, the duke 
wore himself to skin and bone with penances and 
fastings, yet seemed farther off from his object 
than ever. 

At length the worthy prince fell dangerously 
ill, and felt his end approaching. He looked sor- 
rowfully and dubiously upon his young and tender 
spouse, who hung over him with tears and sob- 
bings. " Alas ! " said he, " tears are soon dried 
from youthful eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a 
youthful heart. In a little while thou wilt forget 



130 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 

in the arms of another husband him who has 
loved thee so tenderly." 

" Never ! never ! " cried the duchess. '' Never 
will I cleave to another ! Alas, that my lord 
should think me capable of such inconstancy ! " 

The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed 
by her assurances ; for he could not brook the 
thought of giving her up even after he should be 
dead. Still he wished to have some pledge of 
her enduring constancy. 

" Far be it from me, my dearest wife," said he, 
*' to control thee through a long life. A year and 
a day of strict fidelity will appease my troubled 
spirit. Promise to remain faithful to my memory 
for a year and a day, and I will die in peace." 

The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect, 
but the uxorious feelings of the duke were not 
yet satisfied. " Safe bind, safe find," thought he ; 
so he made a will, bequeathing to her all his do- 
mains, on condition of her remaining true to him 
for a year and a day after his decease ; but, should 
it appear that, within that time, she had in any 
wise lapsed from her fidelity, the inheritance 
should go to his nephew, the lord of a neighbor 
ing territory. 

Having made his will, the good duke died and 
was buried. Scarcely was he in his tomb, when 
his nephew came to take possession, thinking, as 
his uncle had died without issue, the domains 
would be devised to him of course. He was in 
a furious passion when the will was produced, 
and the young widow declared inheritor of the 
dukedom. As he was a violent, high-handed 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 131 

man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, 
feai-s were entertained that he might attempt to 
seize on the territories by force. He had, how- 
ever, two bachelor uncles for bosom counsellors, 
— swaggering, rakehelly old cavaliers, who, hav- 
ing led loose and riotous lives, prided themselves 
upon knowing the world, and being deeply expe- 
rienced in human nature. " Prithee, man, be of 
good cheer," said they ; " the duchess is a young 
and buxom widow. She has just buried our 
brother, who, God rest his soul ! was somewhat 
too much given to praying and fasting, and kept 
his pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She is 
now like a bird from a cage. Think you she 
will keep her vow ? Pooh, pooh — impossible ! 
Take our words for it — we know mankind, 
and, above all, womankind. She cannot hold out 
for such a length of time ; it is not in woman- 
hood, — it is not in widowhood; we know it, 
and that 's enough. Keep a sharp lookout upon 
the widow, therefore, and within the twelvemonth 
you will catch her tripping, and then the duke- 
dom is your own." 

The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and 
immediately placed spies round the duchess, and 
bribed several of her servants to keep watch 
upon her, so that she could not take a single 
step, even from one apartment of her palace to 
another, without being observed. Never was 
young and beautiful widow exposed to so terrible 
an ordeal. 

The duchess was aware of the watch tlius kept 
upon her. Though confident of her own recti- 



132 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 

tude, she knew that it is not enough for a woman i 
to be virtuous, — she must be above the reach of 
slander. For the whole term of her probation,, 
therefore, she proclaimed a strict non-intercourse i 
with the other sex. She had females for cabinet t 
ministers and chamberlains, through whom she- 
transacted {dl her public and private concerns;; 
and it is said that never were the affairs of the; 
dukedom so adroitly administered. i 

AH males were rigorously excluded from thej 
palace; she never went out of its precincts, and I 
whenever she moved about its courts and gardens,, 
she suiTounded herself with a body-guard of 
young maids of honor, commanded by dames re-- 
nowned for discretion. She slept in a bed without i 
curtains, placed in the centre of a room illumi-- 
nat<Mi by innumerable wax tapers. Four ancient 
spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect dragons . 
of watchfulness, who only slept during the day- 
time, kept vigils throughout the night, seated 1 
in the four corners of the room on stools without i 
backs or arms, and with seats cut in checkers : 
of the hardest wood, to keep them from dozing. 

Thus wisely and wearily did the young duchess^ 
conduct herself for twelve long months, and slan-^ 
der almost bit her tongue off in despair, at find-! 
ing no room even for a surmise. Never wasi 
ordeal more burdensome, or more enduringly sus-j 
tained. I 

The year passed away. The last, odd day^ 
ai'rived, and a long, long day it was. It was the 
twenty-first of June, the longest day in the year. 
It seemed as if it would never come to an end. 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 133 

A thousand times did the duchess and her ladies 
watch the siin from the windows of the palace, 
as lie slowly climbed the vault of heaven, and 
seemed still more slowly to roll down. They 
could not help expressing their wonder, now and 
then, why the duke should have tagged this su- 
pernumerary day to the end of the year, as if 
three hundred and sixty-five days were not suffi- 
cient to try and task the fidelity of any woman. 
It is the last grain that turns the scale — the last 
drop that overflows the goblet — and the last 
moment of delay that exhausts tlie patience. By 
the time the sun sank below the horizon, the 
duchess Avas in a fidget that passed all bounds, 
and, though several hours were yet to pass before 
the day regularly expired, she could not have re- 
mained those hours in durance to gain a royal 
crown, much less a ducal coronet. So she gave 
orders, and her palfrey, magnificently caparisoned, 
was brought into the court-yard of the castle, with 
palfreys for all her ladies in attendance. In this 
way she sallied forth, just as the sun had gone 
down. It was a mission of piety, — a pilgrim 
cavalcade to a convent at the foot of a neighbor 
ing mountain, — to return thanks to the blessed 
Virgin, for having sustained her through this 
fearful ordeal. 

The orisons performed, the duchess and her 
ladies returned, ambling gently along the border 
of a forest. It was about that mellow hour of 
twilight when night and day are mingled, and all 
objects are indistinct. Suddenly some monstrous 
animal sprang from out a thicket, with fearful 



134 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 

bowlings. Tlie female body-guard was thrown | 
into contusion, and fled different ways. It was i 
some time before they recovered from their panic, ,j 
and gathered once more together ; but the duchess ; 
was not to be found. The greatest anxiety was ; 
felt for her safety. The hazy mist of twilight: 
had prevented their distinguishing perfectly the 
animal which had affrighted them. Some thought 
it a wolf, others a bear, others a wild man of the 
woods. For upwards of an hour did they be- 
leaguer the forest, without daring to venture in^, 
and were on the pohit of giving up the duchess 
as torn to pieces and devoured, when, to their i 
great joy, they beheld her advancing in the gloom, , 
supported by a stately cavalier. 

He was a stranger knight, whom nobody knew. 
It was impossible to distinguish his countenance 
in the dark ; but all the ladies agreed that he 
was of noble presence and captivating address. 
He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs 
of the monster, which, he assured the ladies, was 
neither a wolf, nor a bear, nor yet a wild man j 
of the woods, but a veritable fiery dragon, a . 
species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful 
females in the days of chivalry, and which all 
the efforts of knight-errantry had not been able • 
to extirpate. 

The ladies crossed themselves when they heard 
of the danger from which they had escaped, and 
could not enough admire the gallantry of the 
cavalier. The duchess would fain have prevailed 
on her deliverer to accompany her to her court ; | 
but he had no time to spare, being a knight- 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 135 

errant who had many adventures on hand, and 
manj distressed damsels and afflicted widows to 
rescue and relieve in various parts of the coun- 
try. Taking a respectful leave, therefore, he 
pursued his wayfaring, and the duchess and her 
train returned to the palace. Throughout the 
whole way, the ladies were unw^earied in chanting 
the praises of the stranger knight ; nay, many of 
them would willingly have incurred the danger 
of the dragon to have enjoyed the happy deliver- 
ance of the duchess. As to the latter, she rode 
pensively along, but said nothing. 

No sooner was the adventure of the wood 
made public, than a whirlwind was raised about 
the ears of the beautiful duchess. The bluster- 
ing nephew of the deceased duke went about, 
armed to the teeth, with a swaggering uncle at 
each shoulder, ready to back him, and swore the 
duchess had forfeited her domain. It was in vain 
that she called all the saints, and angels, and her 
ladies in attendance into the bargain, to witness 
that she had passed a year and a day of immacu- 
late fidelity. One fatal hour remained to be 
accounted for ; and into the space of one little 
hour sins enough may be conjured up by evil 
tongues to blast the fame of a whole life of 
virtue. 

The two graceless uncles, who had seen the 
world, were ever ready to bolster the matter 
through, and as they were brawny, broad-shoul- 
dered warriors, and veterans in brawl as well as 
debauch, they had great sway with the multitude. 
If any one pretended to assert the innocence of 



136 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 

the clucliess, they interrupted him with a loud 
ha ! ha ! of derision. " A pretty story, truly," 
would they cry, " about a wolf and a dragon, and 
a young widow rescued in the dark by a sturdy 
varlet, who dares not show his face in the day- 
light. You may tell that to those who do not 
know human nature ; for our parts, we know the 
sex, and that's enough." 

If, however, the other repeated his assertion, 
they would suddenly knit their brows, swell, look 
big, and put their hands upon their swords. As 
few people like to fight in a cause that does not 
touch their own interests, the nephew and the 
uncles were suffered to have their way, and swag- 
ger uncontradicted. 

The matter was at length referred to a tribmial 
composed of all the dignitaries of the dukedom, 
and many and repeated consultations were held. 
The character of the duchess throughout the year 
was as bright and spotless as the moon in a cloud- 
less night ; one fatal hour of darkness alone inter- 
vened to eclipse its brightness. Finding human 
sagacity incapable of dispelling the mystery, it 
was determined to leave the question to Heaven ; 
or, in other words, to decide it by the ordeal of 
the sword, — a sajre tribunal in the aoce of chiv- 
airy. The nephew and two bully uncles were 
to maintain their accusation in listed combat, and 
six months were allowed to the duchess to pro- 
vide herself with three champions, to meet them 
in the field. Should she fail in this, or should 
her champions be vanquished, her honor would 
he considered as attainted, her fidelity as forfeit, 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 137 

and her dukedom would go to the nephew, as a 
matter of right. 

With this determination the duchess was fain 
to comply. Proclamations were accordingly made, 
and heralds sent to various parts ; but day after 
day, week after week, and month after month 
elapsed, without any champion appearing to assert 
her loyalty throughout that darksome hour. The 
fair widow was reduced to despair, when tidings 
reached her of grand tournaments to be held at 
Toledo, in celebration of the nuptials of Don 
Roderick, the last of the Gothic kings, with the 
Morisco princess Exilona. As a last resort, the 
duchess repaired to the Spanish court, to implore 
the gallantry of its assembled chivalry. 

The ancient city of Toledo was a scene of 
gorgeous revelry on the event of the royal nup- 
tials. The youthful king, brave, ardent, and 
magnificent, and his lovely bride, beaming with 
all the radiant beauty of the East, were hailed 
with shouts and acclamations whenever they ap- 
peared. Their nobles vied with each other in the 
luxury of their attire, their prancing steeds, and 
splendid retinues ; and the haughty dames of the 
court appeared in a blaze of jewels. 

In the midst of all this pageantry, the beauti- 
ful but afflicted Duchess of Lorraine made her 
approach to the throne. She was dressed in 
black, and closely veiled ; four duennas of the 
most staid and severe aspect, and six beautiful 
demoiselles, formed her female attendants. She 
was guarded by several very ancient, withered, 
and gray-headed cavaliers ; and her train was 



138 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 

borne by one of the most deformed and diminu- 
tive dwarfs in existence. 

Advancing to tlie foot of the throne, she knelt 
down, and, tin-owing up her veil, revealed a coun- 
tenance so beautiful that half the courtiers pres- 
ent were ready to renounce wives and mistresses, 
and devote themselves to her service ; but when 
she made known that she came in quest of cham- 
pions to defend her fame, every cavalier pressed 
forward to offer his arm and sword, without in- 
quiring into the merits of the case ; for it seemed 
clear that so beauteous a lady could have done 
nothing but what was right ; and that, at any 
rate, she ought to be championed in following the 
bent of her humors, whether right or wrong. 

Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the duchess 
suffered herself to be raised from the ground, and 
related the whole story of her distress. When 
she concluded, the king remained for some time 
silent, charmed by the music of lier voice. At 
length, " As I hope for salvation, most beautiful 
duchess," said he, " were I not a sovereign king, 
and bound in duty to my kingdom, I myself would 
put lance in rest to vindicate your cause ; as it is, 
I here give full permission to my knights, and 
promise lists and a fair field, and that the contest 
sliall take place before the walls of Toledo, in 
presence of my assembled court." 

As soon as tlie pleasure of the king was known, 
there was a strife among the cavaliers present for 
the honor of the contest. It was decided by lot, 
and the successful candidates were objects of great 
envy, for every one was ambitious of finding fa- 
vor in the eyes of the beautiful widow. 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 139 

Missives were sent summoning the nephew and 
his two uncles to Toledo, to maintain their aeeu- 
sntion, and a day was appointed for the combat. 
When the day arrived all Toledo was in commo- 
tion at an early hour. The lists had been pre- 
pared in the usual place, just without the walls, 
at the foot of the rugged rocks on which the city 
is built, and on that beautiful meadow along the 
Tagus, known by the name of the King's Garden. 
The populace had already assembled, each one 
eager to secure a favorable place ; the balconies 
were filled with the ladies of the court, clad in 
their richest attire, and bands of youthful knights, 
splendidly armed and decorated with their ladies' 
devices, were managing their superbly caparisoned 
steeds about the field. The king at length came 
forth in state, accompanied by the queen Exilona. 
They took their seats in a raised balcony, under 
a canopy of rich damask ; and, at sight of them, 
the people rent the air with acclamations. 

The nephew and his uncles now rode into the 
field, armed cap-a-pie, and followed by a train of 
cavaliers of tiieir own roystering cast, — great 
swearers and carousers, arrant swashbucklers, 
with clanking armor and jingling spurs. When 
the people of Toledo beheld the vaunting and 
discourteous appearance of these knights, they 
were more anxious than ever for the success of 
the gentle duchess ; but, at the same time, the 
sturdy and stalwart frames of these warriors 
showed that whoever won the victory from them 
must do it at the cost of many a bitter blow. 

As the nephew and his riotous crew rode in at 



140 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 

one side of the field, the fair widow appeared at 
the other, with her suite of grave gray-lieaded 
courtiers, her ancient duennas and dainty demoi- 
selles, and the little dwarf toiling along under the 
weight of her train. Every one made way for 
her as she passed, and blessed her beautiful face, 
and prayed for success to her cause. She took 
her seat in a lower balcony, not far fi-om the 
sovereigns ; and her pale fiice, set off by her 
mourning weeds, was as the moon, shhiing forth 
from among the clouds of night. 

The trumpets sounded for the combat. The 
warriors were just entering the lists, when a 
stranger knight, armed in panoply, and followed 
by two pages and an esquire, came galloping 
into the field, and, riding up to the royal balcony, 
claimed the combat as a matter of right. 

" In me," cried he, " behold the cavalier who 
had the happiness to rescue tlie beautiful duchess 
from the peril of the forest, and the misfortune 
to bring on her this grievous calumny. It was 
but recently, in the course of my errantry, that 
tidings of her wrongs have reached my ears, and 
I have urged hither at all speed, to stand forth 
in her vindication." 

No sooner did the duchess hear the accents of 
the knight than she recognized his voice, and 
joined her prayers with his that lie might enter 
the lists. The difficulty was to determine which 
of the three champions already appointed should 
yield his place, each insisting on the honor of the 
combat. The stranger kniglit would have settled 
the point, by taking the whole contest upon him- 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 141 

self ; but this the other knights would not permit. 
It was at length determined, as before, by lot, and 
the cavalier who lost the chance retired murmur- 
ing and disconsolate. 

The trumpets again sounded — the lists were 
opened. The arrogant nephew and his two 
drawcansir uncles appeared so completely cased 
in steel, that they and their steeds were like 
moving masses of iron. When they understood 
the stranger knight to be the same that had res- 
cued the duchess from her peril, they greeted him 
with the most boisterous derision. 

" O ho ! sir Knight of the Dragon," said they, 
"you who pretend to cliampion fair widows in 
the dark, come on, and vindicate your deeds of 
darkness in the open day." 

The only reply of the cavalier was to put lance 
in rest, and brace himself for the encounter. Need- 
less is it to relate the particulars of a battle, which 
was like so many hundred combats that have been 
said and sung in prose and verse. Who is there 
but must have foreseen the event of a contest 
where Heaven had to decide on the guilt or inno- 
cence of the most beautiful and immaculate of 
widows ? 

The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind 
of judicial combats, can imagine the encounter of 
the graceless nephew and the stranger knight. 
He sees their concussion, man to man, and horse 
to horse, in mid career, and sir Graceless hurled 
to the ground and slain. He will not wonder 
that the assailants of the brawny uncles were less 
successful in their rude encounter ; but he will 



142 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 

picture to himself the stout stranger spurring to 
their rescue, in the very critical moment ; he will 
see him transfixing one with his lance, and cleav- 
ing the other to the chine with a back stroke of 
his sword, thus leaving the trio of accusers dead 
upon the field, and establishing the immaculate 
fidelity of the duchess, and her title to the duke- 
dom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

The air rang with acclamations ; nothing was 
heard but praises of the beauty and virtue of the 
duchess, and of the prowess of the stranger knight ; 
but the public joy was still more increased when 
the champion raised his visor, and revealed the 
countenance of one of the bravest cavaliers of 
Spain, renowned for his gallantry in the service 
of the sex, and who had been round the world in 
quest of similar adventures. 

That worthy knight, however, was severely 
wounded, and remained for a long time ill of his 
wounds. The lovely duchess, grateful for having 
twice owed her protection to his arm, attended 
him daily during his illness, and finally rewarded 
his gallantry with her hand. 

The king would fain have had the knight estab- 
lish his title to such high advancement by farther 
deeds of arms ; but his courtiers declared that he 
already merited the lady, by thus vindicating her 
fame and fortune in a deadly combat to out- 
rance ; and the lady herself hinted that she was 
perfectly satisfied of his prowess in arms, from 
the proofs she had received of his achievement 
in the forest. 

Their nuptials were celebrated with great mag- 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 143 

niliceiice. The present husband of the duchess 
did not pray and fast like his predecessor, Phili- 
bert the wife-ridden ; yet he found greater favor 
in the eyes of Heaven, for their union was blessed 
with a numerous progeny : the daughters chaste 
and beauteous as their mother ; the sons stout 
and valiant as their sire, and renowned, like him, 
for relieving disconsolate damsels and desolated 
widows. 





THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 




N the course of a tour in Sicily, in the 
days of my juvenility, I passed some 
little time at the ancient city of Catania, 
at the foot of Mount ^tna. Here I became 

acquainted with the Chevalier L , an old 

Knight of Malta. It was not many years after 
the time that Napoleon had dislodged the knights 
from their island, and he still wore the insignia 
of his order. He was not, however, one of those 
reliques of that once chivalrous body, who have 
been described as " a few wornout old men, creep- 
ing about certain parts of Europe, with the Mal- 
tese cross on their breasts " ; on the contrary, 
though advanced in life, his form was still lithe 
and vigorous. He had a pale, thiii, intellectual 
visage, with a high forehead, and a bright, vision- 
ary eye. He seemed to take a fancy to me, as I 
certainly did to him, and we soon became inti- 
mate. I visited him occasionally at his apart- 
ments, in the wing of an old palace, looking toward 
Mount JEtna. Fie was an antiquary, a virtuoso, 
and a connoisseur; His rooms were decorated 
with mutilated statues, dug up from Grecian and 
Roman ruins ; old vases, lachrymals, and sepul- 
chral lamps. He had astronomical and chemical 



THE KNJGHT OF MALTA. 145 

instruments, and bhick-letter books, in various 
languages. I found that he had dipped a little 
in chimerical studies, and had a hankering after 
astrology and alchemy. He affected to believe 
in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fanci- 
ful Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade 
myself, however, that he really believed in all 
these ; I rather think he loved to let his imagi- 
nation carry him away into the boundless fairy 
land which they unfolded. 

In company with the chevalier, I made several 
excursions on horseback about the environs of 
Catania, and the picturesque skirts of Mount 
^tna. One of these led through a village which 
had sprung up on the very track of an ancient 
eruption, the houses being built of lava. At one 
time we passed, for some distance, along a narrow 
lane, between two high dead con vent -walls. It 
was a cut-throat looking place, in a country where 
assassinations are frequent ; and just about mid- 
way through it we observed blood upon the pave- 
ment and the walls, as if a murder had actually 
been committed there. 

The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he 
had extricated himself completely from this sus- 
picious neighborhood. He then observed that it 
reminded him of a similar blind alley in Malta, 
infamous on account of the many assassinations 
that had taken place there ; concerning one of 
which he related a long and tragical story, that 
lasted until we reached Catania. It involvfni 
various circumstances of a wild and supernatui-al 
character, but which he assured me were handed 
10 



146 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

down in tradition, and generally credited by the 
old inhabitants of Malta. 

As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I 
was particularly struck with several parts of this, 
I made a minute of it, on my return to my lodg- 
ino-s. The memorandum was lost, with several 
of my travelling papers, and the story had faded 
from my mind, when recently, on perusing a 
French memoir, I came suddenly upon it, dressed 
up, it is true, in a very different manner, but 
agreeing in the leading facts, and given upon the 
word of that famous adventurer, the Count Cag- 
liostro. 

I have amused myself, during a snowy day in 
the country, by rendering it roughly into English, 
for the entertainment of a youthful circle round 
the Christmas fire. It was well received by my 
auditors, who, however, are rather easily pleased. 
One proof of its merits is, that it sent some of 
the youngest of them quaking to their beds, and 
gave them very fearful dreams. Hoping that it 
may have the same effect upon the ghost-hunt- 
ing reader, I subjoin it. I would observe, that 
wherever I have modified the French version of 
the story, it has been in conformity to some recol- 
lection of the narrative of my friend, the Knight 
of Malta. 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 147 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 

A VERITABLE GHOST STORY. 

" Keep my wits, heaven ! They say spirits appear 
To melancholy minds, and the graves open ! " 

Fletcher. 

About the middle of the last century, while 
the Knights of Saint John of Jerusalem still 
maintained something of their ancient state and 
sway in the island of Malta, a tragical event took 
place there, which is the groundwork of the fol- 
lowing narrative. 

It may be as well to premise, that, at the time 
we are treating of, the Order of Saint John of 
Jerusalem, grown excessively wealthy, had degen- 
erated from its originally devout and warlike 
character. Instead of being a hardy body of 
" monk-knights," sworn soldiers of the Cross, fight- 
ing tiie Paynim in the Holy Land, or scouring 
the Mediterranean, and scourging the Barbary 
coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor, and 
attending upon the sick at their hospitals, they 
led a life of luxury and libertinism, and were to 
be found in the most voluptuous courts of Europe. 
The order, in fact, had become a mode of provid- 
ing for the needy branches of the Catholic aristoc- 
j-acy of Europe. "A commandery," we are told, 
was a splendid provision for a younger brother ; 
and men of rank, however dissolute, provided 
they belonged to the highest aristocracy, became 
Knights of Malta, just as they did bishops, or 



148 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

colonels of regiments, or court chamberlains. Ai'ter 
a brief residence at Malta, the knights passed tlie 
rest of their time in their own countries, or only 
made a visit now and then to the island. While 
there, having but little military duty to perform, 
they beguiled their idleness by paying attentions 
to the fair. 

There was one circle of society, however, into 
which they could not obtain currency. This was 
composed of a few families of the old Maltese 
nobility, natives of the island. These families, 
not being permitted to enroll any of their mem- 
bers in the order, affected to hold no intercourse 
with its chevaliers ; admitting none into their ex- 
clusive coteries but the Grand Master, whom 
they acknowledged as their sovereign, and the 
members of the chapter which composed his 
council. 

To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the 
chevaliers carried their gallantries into the next 
class of society, composed of those who held civil, 
administrative, and judicial situations. The ladies 
of this class were called honor ate, or honorables, 
to distinguish them from the inferior orders ; and 
among them were many of superior grace, beauty, 
and fascination. 

Even in this more hospitable class, the cheva- 
liers were not all equally favored. Those of Ger- 
many had the decided preference, owing to their 
fair and fresh complexions, and tlie kindliness of 
their manners ; next to these, came the Spanish 
cavaliers, on account of their profound and courte- 
ous devotion, and most discreet secrecy. Singular 



T[ll£ GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. \ \\S 

seem, the chevaliers of France fared 
the worst. The Maltese ladies dreaded their 
volatility, and their proneness to boast of their 
amours, and shunned all entanglement with them. 
They were forced, therefore, to content themselves 
with conquests among females of the lower orders. 
They revenged themselves, after the gay French 
manner, by making the " honorate " the objects 
of all kinds of jests and mystifications ; by pry- 
ing into their tender affairs with the more favored 
chevaliers, and making them the theme of song 
and epigram. 

About this time a French vessel arrived at 
Malta, bringing out a distinguished personage of 
the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, the Com- 
mander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit the 
post of commander-in-chief of the galleys. He 
was descended from an old and warrior line of 
French nobility, his ancestors having long been 
seneschals of Poitou, and claiming descent from 
the first Counts of Angouleme. 

Tiie arrival of the commander caused a little 
uneasiness among the peaceably inclined, for he 
bore the character, in the island, of being fiery, 
arrogant, and quarrelsome. He had already been 
three times at Malta, and on each visit had signal- 
ized himself by some rash and deadly affray. As 
lie was now thirty-five years of age, however, it 
was hoped that time might have taken off tlie 
fiery edge of his spirit, and that he might prove 
more quiet and sedate than formerly. The com- 
mander set up an establishment befitting his rank 
and pretensions ; for he arrogated to himself an 



150 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

importance greater even than that of the Grand 
Master. His house immediately became the ral- 
lying-place of all the young French chevaliers. 
They informed him of all the slights they had ex- 
perienced or imagined, and indulged their petu- 
lant and satirical vein at the expense of the 
honorate and their admirers. The chevaliers of 
other nations soon found the topics and tone of 
conversation at the commander's irksome and 
offensive, and gradually ceased to visit there. The 
commander remained at the head of a national 
clique^ who looked up to him as their model. If 
he was not as boisterous and quarrelsome as 
formerly, he had become haughty and overbear- 
ing. He was fond of talking over his past affairs 
of punctilio and bloody duel. When walking the 
streets, he was generally attended by a ruffling 
train of young French chevaliers, who caught 
his own air of assumption and bravado. These 
he would conduct to the scenes of his deadly 
encounters, point out the very spot where each 
fatal lunge had been given, and dwell vainglori- 
ously on every particular. 

Under his tuition the young French chevaliers 
began to add bluster and arrogance to their former 
petulance and levity ; they fired up on the most 
trivial occasions, particularly with those who had 
been most successful with the fair ; and would 
put on the most intolerable drawcansir airs. The 
other chevaliers conducted themselves with all 
possible forbearance and reserve ; but they saw it 
would be impossible to keep on long, in this man- 
ner, without coming to an open rupture. 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 151 

Among the Spanish cavaliers was one named 
Don Luis de Lima Vasconcellos. He was dis- 
tantly related to the Grand Master ; and had been 
enrolled at an early age among his pages, but had 
been rapidly promoted by him, until, at the age 
of twenty-six, he had been given the richest 
Spanish commandery in the order. He had, 
moreover, been fortunate with the fair, with one 
of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, 
he had long maintained the most tender corre- 
spondence. 

The character, rank, and connections of Don 
Luis put him on a par with the imperious Com- 
mander de Foulquerre, and pointed him out as 
a leader and champion to his countrymen. The 
Spanish cavaliers repaired to him, therefore, in a 
body ; represented all the grievances they had 
sustained and the evils they apprehended, and 
urged him to use his influence with the com- 
mander and his adherents to put a stop to the 
growing abuses. 

Don Luis was gratified by this mark of con- 
fidence and esteem on the part of his countrymen, 
and promised to have an interview with the Com- 
mander de Foulquerre on the subject. He re- 
solved to conduct himself with the utmost caution 
and delicacy on the occasion ; to represent to the 
commander the evil consequences which might 
result from the inconsiderate conduct of the young 
French chevaliers, and to entreat him to exert the 
great influence he so deservedly possessed over 
them, to restrain their excesses. Don Luis was 
aware, however, of the peril that attended any 



152 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

interview of the kind with this imperious and 
tractions man, and appreliended, hoAvever it might 
nommence, that it would terminate in a dneh 
Still it was an affair of honor, in which Castilian 
dignity was concerned ; beside, he had a birking 
disgust at the overbearing manners of De Foul- 
querre, and perhaps had been somewhat offended 
by certain intrusive attentions which he had pre- 
sumed to pay to the beautiful honorata. 

It was now Holy Week ; a time too sacred for 
worldly feuds and passions, especially in a com- 
munity under the dominion of a religious order : 
it was agreed, therefore, that the dangerous inter- 
view in question should not take place until after 
the Easter holidays. It is probable, fi'om sub- 
sequent circumstances, that the Commander de 
Foulquerre had some information of this arrange- 
ment among the Spanish cavaliers, and was de- 
termined to be beforehand, and to mortify the 
pride of their champion, who was thus preparing 
to read him a lecture. He chose Good Friday 
for his purpose. On this sacred day it is custom- 
ary, in Catholic countries, to make a tour of all 
the churches, offering up prayers in each. In 
every Catholic church, as is well known, there is 
a vessel of holy water near the door. In this, 
every one, on entering, dips his fingers, and makes 
therewith the sign of the cross on his forehead 
and breast. An office of gallantry, among the 
young Spaniaids, is to stand near the door, dip 
their hands in the holy \essel, and extend them 
courteously and respectfully to any lady of their 
acquaintance who may enter ; who thus receives 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. ]5c» 

the paored water at second hand, on the tips of 
her fingers, and proceeds to cross herself with all 
dne decorum. The Spaniards, who are the most 
jealous of lovers, are impatient when this piece 
of devotional gallantry is proffered to the object 
of tlieir affections by any other hand : on Good 
Friday, therefore, when a lady makes a tour of 
the churches, it is the usage among them for the 
inamorato to follow her from church to church, 
so as to present her the holy water at the door of 
each ; thus testifying his own devotion, and at the 
same time preventing the officious services of a 
rival. 

On the day in question Don Luis followed the 
beautiful honor ata, to whom, as has already been 
observed, he had long been devoted. At the very 
first church she visited, the Commander de Foul- 
querre was stationed at the portal, with several 
of the young French chevaliers about him. Be- 
fore Don Luis could offer her the holy water, he 
was anticipated by the commander, who thrust 
himself between them, and, while he performed 
the gallant office to the lady, rudely turned his 
back u})on her admirer, and trod upon his feet. 
The insult was enjoyed by the young Frenchmen 
Avho were present : it was too deep and grave to 
be forgiven by Spanish pride ; and at once put an 
end to all Don Luis's plans of caution and for- 
beai-ance. He repressed his passion for the mo- 
ment, however, and waited until all the parties 
left the church : then, accosting the commander 
with an air of coolness and unconcern, he inquii'ed 
after his health, and asked to what church he 



154 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

proposed making his second visit. " To the Mag- 
isterial Church of St. John." Don Luis offered 
to conduct him thither by the shortest route. His 
offer was accepted, apparently without suspicion, 
and they proceeded together. After walking some 
distance, they entered a long, narrow lane, with- 
out door or window opening upon it, called the 
" Strada Stretta," or narrow street. It was a 
street in which duels were tacitly permitted, or 
connived at, in Malta, and were suffered to pass 
as accidental encounters. Everywhere else they 
were prohibited. This restriction had been in- 
stituted to diminish the number of duels formerly 
so frequent in Malta. As a farther precaution to 
render these encounters less fatal, it was an of- 
fence, punishable with death, for any one to enter 
this street armed with either poniard or pistol. 
It was a lonely, dismal street, just wide enough 
for two men to stand upon their guard and cross 
their swords ; few persons ever traversed it, un- 
less with some sinister design ; and on any pre- 
concerted duello, the seconds posted themselves at 
each end, to stop all passengers and prevent in- 
terruption. 

In tlie present instance, the parties had scarce 
entered the street, when Don Luis drew his sword, 
and called upon the commander to defend himself. 

De Foulquerre was evidently taken by sur- 
prise : he drew back, and attempted to expostu- 
late ; but Don Luis persisted in defying him to 
the combat. 

After a second or two, he likewise drew his 
sword, but immediately lowered the point. 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 155 

" Good Friday ! " ejaculated he, shaking his 
head : " one word with you ; it is full six years 
since I have been in a confessional : I am shocked 
at the state of my conscience ; but within three 
days — that is to say, on Monday next " — 

Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though 
natm'ally of a peaceable disposition, he had been 
stung to fury ; and people of that character, w^lien 
once incensed, are deaf to reason. He compelled 
the commander to put himself on his guard. The 
latter, though a man accustomed to brawl and 
battle, was singularly dismayed. Tei'ror was 
visible in all his features. He placed himself 
M'ith his back to the wall, and the weapons were 
crossed. The contest was brief and fatal. At 
the very first thrust the sword of Don Luis 
passed through the body of his antagonist. The 
commander staggered to the wall, and leaned 
against it. 

" On Good Friday ! " ejaculated he again, with 
a failing voice and despairing accents. " Heaven 
pardon you ! " added he ; " take my sword to 
Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses per- 
formed in the chapel of the castle, for the repose 
of my soul ! " With these words he expired. 

The fury of Don Luis was at an end. PTe 
stood aghast, gazing at the bleeding body of the 
commander. He called to mind the prayer of 
tlie deceased for three days' respite, to make his 
peace with Heaven ; he had refused it ; had 
sent him to the grave, with all his sins upon his 
head ! His conscience smote him to the core ; he 
gathered up the sword of the commander, which 



15G THE KNIGHT OF .]fALTA. 

he liad been enjoined to take to Tetefoulques, and 
hnrried from the fatal vStrada Stretta. 

The duel, of course, made a great noise in 
Malta, but had no injurious effect on the worldly 
fortunes of Don Luis. He made a full declara- 
tion of the whole matter, before the proper au- 
thorities ; the chapter of the order considered it 
one of those casual encounters of the Strada 
Stretta, which were mourned over, but toler- 
ated ; the public, by whom the late commander 
had been generally detested, declared that he 
deserved his fate. It was but three days after 
the event that Don Luis was advanced to one of 
the liighest dignities of the order, being invested 
by the Grand Master with the Priorship of the 
kingdom of Minorca. 

From that time forward, however, the whole 
character and conduct of Don Luis underwent a 
change. He became a prey to a dark melan- 
choly, which nothing could assuage. The most 
austere piety, the severest penances, had no effect 
in allaying the horror which preyed upon his 
mind. He was absent for a long time from 
Malta, having gone, it was said, on remote pil- 
grimages : when he returned, he was more hag- 
gard than ever. There seemed something mys- 
terious and inexplicable in this disorder of his 
mind. The following is the revelation, made by 
himself, of the horrible visions or chimeras by 
which he was haunted : — 

" When I had made my declaration before the 
chapter," said he, " my provocations were publicly 
known, — I had made my peace with man ; but it 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. Ifj? 

was not so with God, nor with my confessor, nor 
with my own conscience. My act was doubly 
criminal, from the day on which it was connnitted, 
and fi'oni my refusal to a delay of three days, for 
the victim of my resentment to receive the sacra- 
ments. His despairing ejaculation, ' Good Fri- 
day ! Good Friday ! ' continually rang in my 
ears. ' Why did I not grant the respite ! ' cried 
I to myself ; ' was it not enough to kill the body, 
but must I seek to kill the soul ! ' 

'' On the night following Friday I started sud- 
denly from my sleep. An unaccountable horror 
was upon me. 1 looked wildly around. It 
seemed as if I were not in my apartment, nor in 
my bed, but in the fatal Strada Stretta, lying on 
the pavement. I again saw the commander lean- 
ing against the wall ; I again heard his dying 
words : ' Take my sword to Tetefoulques, and 
have a hundred masses performed in the chapel 
of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 

" On the following night I caused one of my 
servants to sleep in the same room with me. I 
saw and heard nothing, either on that night or 
any of the nights following, until the next Friday, 
when I had again the same vision, with this dif 
ference, that my valet seemed to be lying some 
distance from me on the pavement of the Strada 
Stretta. The vision continued to be repeated on 
every Friday night, the commander always ap- 
pearing in the same manner, and uttering the 
same words : ' Take my sword to Tetefoulques, 
and have a hundred masses performed in the 
chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 



158 TEE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

" On questioning my servant on the subject, 
he stated that on these occasions he dreamed 
that he was lying in a very narrow street, but 
he neither saw nor heard anything of the com- 
mander. 

" I knew nothing of this Tetefoulques, whither 
the defunct was so urgent I should carry his 
sword. I made inquiries, therefore, concerning 
it, among the French chevaliers. They informed 
me that it was an old castle, situated about four 
leagues from Poitiers, in the midst of a forest. 
It had been built in old times, several centuries 
since, by Foulques Taillefer, (or Fulke Hack- 
iron), a redoubtable hard-fighting Count of An- 
gouleme, who gave it to an illegitimate son, 
afterwards created Grand Seneschal of Poitou, 
which son became the progenitor of the Foul- 
querres of Tetefoulques, hereditary seneschals of 
Poitou, They farther informed me, that strange 
stories were told of this old castle, in the sur- 
rounding country, and that it contained many 
curious reliques. Among these were the arms 
of Foulques Taillefer, together with those of the 
warriors he had slain ; and that it was an imme- 
morial usage with the Foulquerres to have the 
weapons deposited there which they had yielded 
either in war or single combat. This, then, was 
the reason of the dying injunction of the com- 
mander respecting his sword. I carried this 
weapon with me wherever I went, but still I 
neglected to comply with his request. 

" The vision still continued to harass me with 
undiminished horror. I repaired to Rome, where 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 159 

I confessed myself to the Grand Cardinal peni- 
tentiary, and informed him of the terrors with 
which I was haunted. He promised me absolu- 
tion, after I should have performed certain acts 
of penance, the principal of which was to execute 
the dying request of the commander, by carrying 
his sword to Tetefoulques, and having the hun- 
dred masses performed in the chapel of the castle 
for the repose of his soul. 

" I set out for France as speedily as possible, 
and made no delay in my journey. On arriving 
at Poitiers, I found that the tidings of the death 
of the commander had reached there, but had 
caused no more affliction than among the people 
of Malta. Leaving my equipage in the town, I 
put on the garb of a pilgrim, and taking a guide, 
set out on foot for Tetefoulques. Indeed the 
roads in this part of the country were impracti- 
cable for carriages. 

" I found the castle of Tetefoulques a grand 
but gloomy and dilapidated pile. All the gates 
were closed, and there reigned over the whole 
place an air of almost savage loneliness and de- 
sertion. I had understood that its only inhabi- 
tants were the concierge, or warder, and a kind 
of hermit who had charge of the chapel. After 
ringing for some time at the gate, 1 at length 
succeeded in bringing forth the warder, who 
bowed with reverence to my pilgrim's garb. I 
begged him to conduct me to the chapel, that 
being the end of my pilgrimage. We found the 
hermit there, chanting the funeral service ; a 
di&mal sound to one who came to perform a pen- 



160 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

aiice for the death of a member of the family. 
When he had ceased to chant, I informed him 
that I came to accomplish an obligation of con- 
science, and that I wished him to perform a hmi- 
dred masses for the repose of the soul of the 
commander. He replied that, not being in orders, 
he was not authorized to perform mass, but that 
he would willingly undertake to see that my debt 
of conscience was discharged. I laid my offer- 
ing on the altar, and would have placed the sword 
of the commander there likewise. ' Hold ! ' said 
the hermit, with a melancholy shake of the head, 
' this is no place for so deadly a weapon, that has 
so often been bathed in Christian blood. Take it 
to the armory ; you will find there trophies enough 
of like character. It is a place into which I never 
enter.' 

" The warder here took up the theme abandoned 
by the peaceful man of God. He assured me 
that I would see in the armory the swords of all 
the warrior race of Foulquerres, together with 
those of the enemies over whom they had ti-i- 
umphed. This, he observed, had been a usage 
kept up since the time of Mellusine, and of her 
husband, Geoffrey a la Grand-dent, or Geoffrey 
with the Gi'cat-tooth. 

" I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. 
It was a great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic- 
looking portraits of a stark line of warriors, each 
with his weapon, and the weapons of those he had 
slain in battle, hung beside his picture. The most 
conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Tail- 
lefer (Fulke Hack -iron), Count of Angouleme, and 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 161 

founder of the castle. He was represented at full 
length, armed cap-a-pie, and grasping a huge 
buckler, on which were emblazoned three lions 
passant. The figure was so striking, that it 
seemed ready to start from the canvas ; and I 
observed beneath this picture a trophy composed 
of many weapons, proofs of the numerous tri- 
umphs of this hard-fighting old cavalier. Beside 
the weapons connected with the portraits, there 
were swords of all shapes, sizes, and centuries, 
hung round the hall, with piles of armor placed, 
as it were, in effigy. 

*' On each side of an immense chimney were 
suspended the portraits of the first seneschal of 
Poitx^u (the illegitimate son of Foulques Tail- 
lefer) and his wife, Isabella de Lusignan, the pro- 
genitors of the grim race of Foulquerres that 
fi'owned around. They had the look of being 
perfect likenesses ; and as I gazed on them, I 
fancied I could trace in their antiquated features 
some family resemblance to their unfortunate de- 
scendant wdiom I had slain ! This was a dismal 
neighborhood, yet the armory was the only part 
of the castle that had a habitable air ; so I asked 
the warder whether he could not make a fire, and 
give me something for supper there, and prepai-e 
me a bed in one corner. 

" 'A fire and a supper you shall have, and that 
cheerfully, most worthy pilgrim,' said he ; ' but as 
to a bed, I advise you to come and sleep in my 
chamber.' 

- ' Why so ? ' inquired I ; ' why shall I not sleep 
in this liall?' 

11 



162 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

" ' I have my reasons ; I will make a bed for 
you close to mine.' 

" I made no objections, for I recollected that it 
was Friday, and I dreaded the return of my 
vision. He brought in billets of wood, kindled a 
fire in the great overhanging chimney, and then 
went forth to prepare my supper. I drew a heavy 
chair before the fire, and seating myself in it, 
gazed musingly round upon the portraits of the 
Foulqnerres and the antiquated armor and weap- 
ons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. As 
the day declined, the smoky draperies of the hall 
gradually became confounded with the dark ground 
of the paintings, and the lurid gleams from the 
chimney only enabled me to see visages staring at 
me from the o^athering darkness. All this was 
dismal in the extreme, and somewhat appalling ; 
perhaps it was the state of my conscience that 
rendered me peculiarly sensitive and prone to 
fearful ima^inino-s. 

"At length the warder brought in my supper. 
It consisted of a dish of trout and some crawfish 
taken in the fosse of the castle. He procured 
also a bottle of wine, which he informed me was 
wine of Poitou. I requested him to invite the 
hermit to join me in my repast, but the holy man 
sent back word that he allowed himself nothing 
but roots and herbs, cooked with water. I took 
my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it as 
much as possible, and sought to cheer my droop- 
ing spirits by the wine of Poitou, which I found 
very tolerable. 

" When supper was over I prepared for my 



THE GRA^D PRTOR OF MINORCA. 163 

evening devotions. I have always been very 
punctual in reciting my breviary ; it is the pre- 
scribed and bounden duty of all cavaliers of the 
religious orders ; and I can answer for it, is faith- 
fully performed by those of Spain. I accordingly 
drew forth from my pocket a small missal and a 
rosary, and told the warder he need only desig- 
nate to me the way to his chamber, where I could 
come and rejoin him when I had finished my 
prayers. 

" He accordingly pointed out a winding stair- 
case opening from the hall. ' You will descend 
this staircase,' said he, ' until you come to the 
fourth landing-place, where you enter a vaulted 
passage, terminated by an arcade, with a statue of 
the blessed Jeanne of France ; you cannot help 
finding my room, the door of which I will leave 
open ; it is the sixth door from the landing-place. 
I advise you not to remain in this hall after mid- 
night. Before that hour you will hear the hermit 
ring; the bell, in oroinsr the rounds of the corridors. 
Do not linger here after that sig-ual.' 

" The warder retired, and I commenced my 
devotions. I continued at them earnestly, paus- 
ing from time to time to put wood upon the fire. 
I did not dare to look much around me, for I felt 
myself becoming a prey to fearful fancies. The 
pictures appeared to become animated. If I re- 
garded one attentively, for any length of time, it 
seemed to move the eyes and lips. Above all, 
the portraits of the Grand Seneschal and his lady, 
which hung on each side of the great chimney, 
the progenitors of the Foulquerres of Tetefoul- 



1G4 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

ques, regarded me, I thought, with angry and 
baleful eyes ; I even fancied they exchanged sig- 
nificant glances with each other. Just then a 
terrible blast of wind shook all the casements, 
and, rushing through the hall, made a fearful rat- 
tling and clashing among the armor. To my 
stai'tled fancy, it seemed something supernatural. 

"At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and 
hastened to quit the hall. Taking a solitary light, 
which stood on the supper-table, I descended the 
winding staircase, but before I had reached the 
vaulted passage leading to the statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished 
my taper. 1 hastily remounted the stairs, to light 
it again at the chimney ; but judge of my feel- 
ings, when, on arriving at the entrance to the 
armory, I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who 
had descended from their frames, and seated them- 
selves on each side of the fireplace ! 

" ' Madam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with 
great formality and in antiquated phrase, ' what 
think you of the presumption of this Castilian, 
who comes to harbor himself and make wassail in 
this our castle, after having slain our descendant, 
the commander, and that without granting him 
time for confession ? ' 

" ' Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, 
with no less stateliness of manner, and with great 
asperity of tone — ' truly, my lord, I opine that 
this Castilian did a grievous wrong in this en- 
counter, and he should never be suffered to depart 
hence, without your throwing him the gauntlet.' 
I paused to hear no more, but rushed again down 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 165 

Stairs to seek tlie chamber of the warder. It was 
impossible to find it in the darkness and in the 
perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a 
half of fruitless search, and mortal horror and 
anxieties, I endeavored to persuade myself that 
tlie day was about to break, and listened im- 
patiently for the crowing of the cock ; for I thought 
if I could hear his cheerful note, I should be re- 
assured ; catching, in the disordei'ed state of my 
nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts never 
appear after the first crowing of the cock. 

"At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to 
shake off the vague terrors which haunted me. 1 
tried to persuade myself that the two figures which 
I had seemed to see and hear, had existed only 
in my troubled imagination. I still had the end 
of a candle in my hand, and determined to make 
another effort to relight it and find my way to 
bed, for I was ready to sink with fatigue. I 
accordingly sprang up the staircase, three steps 
at a time, stopped at the door of the armory, and 
peeped cautiously in. The two Gothic figures 
were no longer in the chimney-corners, but I 
neglected to notice whether they had reascended 
to their frames. I entered and made desperately 
for the fire{>lace, but scarce had I advanced three 
strides, when Messire Foulques Taillefer stood 
before me, in the centre of the hall, armed cap-a- 
pie, and standing in guard, with the point of his 
sword silently presented to me. I would have 
retreated to the staircase, but the door of it was 
occupied by the phantom figure of an esquire, 
who rudely fiung a gauntlet in my face. Driven 



lOb* THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

to fury, I snatched down a sword from the wall : 
by chance, it was that of the commander which 
I had placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic 
adversary, and seemed to pierce him through and 
through ; but at the same time I felt as if some- 
thing pierced my heart, burning like a red-hot 
iron. My blood inundated the hall, and I fell 
senseless. 

" When I recovered consciousness, it was broad 
day, and I found myself in a small chamber, 
attended by the warder and the hermit. The 
former told me that on the previous night he had 
awakened long after the midnight hour, and per- 
ceiving that I had not come to his chamber, he 
had furnished himself with a vase of holy water, 
and set out to seek me. He found me stretched 
senseless on the pavement of the armory, and 
bore me to his room. I spoke of my wound, and 
of the quantity of blood that I had lost. He 
stiook his head, and knew nothing about it ; and 
to my surprise, on examination, I found myself 
perfectly sound and unharmed. The wound and 
blood, therefore, had been all delusion. Neither 
the warder nor the hermit put any questions to 
me, but advised me to leave the castle as soon as 
possible. I lost no time in complying with their 
counsel, and felt my heart relieved from an op- 
pressive weight, as I left the gloomy and fate- 
bound battlements of Tetefoulques behind me. 

"I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, 
on the following Friday. At midnight I was 
startled from my sleep, as I had formerly been ; 



THK GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 107 

but it WHS no longer by the vision of the dying 
roniniander. It was old Foulqiies Taillefer who 
Btood befoi-e me, armed cap-a-pie, and presenting 
the point of his sword. I made the sign of the 
cross, and the spectre vanished, but I received the 
same red-hot thrust in the heart which I had felt 
in the armory, and I seemed to be bathed in blood. 
I would have called out, or have risen from my 
bed and gone in quest of succor, but I could 
neither speak nor stir. This agony endured until 
the crowing of the cock, when I fell asleep again ; 
but the next day I was ill, and in a most pitiable 
state. I have continued to be harassed by the 
same vision eveiy Friday night ; no acts of pen- 
itence and devotion have been able to relieve me 
from it ; and it is only a lingering hope in divine 
mercy that sustains me, and enables me to support 
so lamentable a visitation." 

The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually 
away under this constant remorse of conscience 
and this horrible incubus. He died some time 
after having revealed the preceding particulars 
of his case, evidently the victim of a diseased 
imagination. 

The above relation has been rendered, in many 
parts literally, from the French memoir, in which 
it is given as a true story : if so, it is one of 
those instances in which truth is more romantic 
than fiction. 




»* A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY." 




N the course of a voyage from England, 
I once fell in with a convoy of merchant 
ships, bound for the West Indies. The 
weather was uncommonly bland ; and the ships 
vied with each other in spreading sail to catch a 
light, favoring breeze, until their hulls were al- 
most hidden beneath a cloud of canvas. The 
breeze went down with the sun, and his last yel- 
low rays shone upon a thousand sails, idly flap- 
ping against the masts. 

I exulted in the beauty of the scene, and au- 
gured a prosperous voyage ; but the veteran mas- 
ter of the ship shook his head, and pronounced 
this halcyon calm a "weather-breeder." And so 
it proved. A storm burst forth in the night ; the 
sea roared and raged ; and when the day broke 
I beheld the late gallant convoy scattered in every 
direction ; some dismasted, others scudding under 
bare poles, and many tiring signals of distress. 

I have since been occasionally reminded of this 
scene, by those calm, sunny seasons in the (*om- 
mercial world, which are known by the name of 
" times of unexampled prosperity." They are 
the sure weather-breeders of traffic. Every now 



4 TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 169 

and then tlie world is visited by one of these 
delusive seasons, when " the credit system," as it 
is called, expands to full luxuriance ; everybody 
trusts everybody ; a bad debt is a thing unheard 
of; the broad way to certain and sudden wealth 
lies plain and open ; and men are tempted to dash 
forward boldly, from the facility of borrowing. 

Promissory notes, interchanged between schem- 
ing individuals, are liberally discounted at the 
banks, which become so many mints to coin words 
into cash ; and as the supply of words is inex- 
haustible, it may readily be supposed what a vast 
amount of promissory capital is soon in circula- 
tion. Every one now talks in thousands ; noth- 
ing is heard but gigantic operations in trade ; 
great purchases and sales of real property, and 
immense sums made at every transfer. All, to 
be sure, as yet exists in promise ; but the be- 
liever in promises calculates the aggregate as 
solid capital, and foils back in amazement at the 
amount of public wealth, the " unexampled state 
of public prosperity ! " 

Now is the time for speculative and dreaming 
or designing men. They relate their dreams and 
projects to the ignorant and credulous, dazzle 
them with golden visions, and set them madden- 
ing after shadows. The example of one stimu- 
lates another ; speculation rises on speculation ; 
bubble rises on bubble ; every one helps with his 
breath to swell the windy superstructure, and ad- 
mires and wondei'S at the magnitude of the intla- 
tion he has contributed to produce. 

Speculation is the romance of trade, and casts 



170 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

30iitempt upon all its sober realities. It renders 
the stock-jol)ber a magician, and the exchange a 
region of enchaiitnient. It elevates the merchant 
into a kind of knight-errant, or rather a commer- 
cial Quixote. The slow but sure gains of snug 
percentage become despicable in his eyes : no 
" operation " is thought worthy of attention, that 
does not double or treble the investment. No 
business is worth following, that does not promise 
an immediate fortune. As he sits musing over 
his ledger, with pen behind his ear, he is like La 
Mancha's hero in his study, dreaming over his 
books of chivalry. His dusty counting-house 
fades before his eyes, or changes into a Spanish 
mine : he gropes after diamonds, or dives after 
pearls. The subterranean garden of Aladdin is 
nothing to the realms of w^ealth that break upon 
his imagination. 

Could this delusion always last, the life of a 
merchant would indeed be a golden dream ; but 
it is as short as it is brilliant. Let but a doubt 
enter, and the '' season of unexampled prosper- 
ity " is at end. The coinage of words is sud- 
denly curtailed ; the promissory capital begins 
to vanish into smoke ; a panic succeeds, and the 
whole superstructure, built upon credit, and reared 
by speculation, crumbles to the ground, leaving 
scarce a wreck behind : 

" It is such stuff as dreams are made of." 

When a man of business, therefore, hears on 
every side rumors of fortunes suddenly acquired ; 
when he finds banks liberal, and brokers busy; 



A TIME OF UNKXA.UPLED PROSPERITY. 171 

v'hen he sees adventurers flush of paper capital, 
and full of scheme and enterprise ; when he per- 
ceives a greater disposition to buy than to sell ; 
when trade overflows its accustomed channels, 
and deluges the country ; when he hears of new 
regions of commercial adventure ; of distant marts 
and distant mines, swallowing merchandise and 
(lisgoi'ging gold ; when he finds joint stock com- 
panies of all kinds forming ; railroads, canals, and 
locomotive engines, springing up on every side ; 
when idlers suddenly become men of business, and 
dash into the game of commerce as they would 
into the hazards of the faro-table ; when he be- 
holds the streets glittering with new equipages, 
pahi.ees conjured up by the magic of speculation, 
tradesmen flushed with sudden success, and vying 
with each other in ostentatious expense ; in a 
word, when he hears the whole community join- 
ing in the theme of " unexampled prosperity," let 
him look upon the whole as a " weather-breeder," 
and pi-epare for the impending storm. 

Tiie foregoing remarks are intended merely as 
a prelude to a narrative I am about to lay before 
the public, of one of the most memorable in- 
stances of the infatuation of gain to be found in 
the whole history of commerce. I allude to the 
famous Mississippi bubble. It is a matter that 
has passed into a proverb, and become a phrase 
in every one's mouth, yet of which not one mer- 
chant in ten has probably a distinct idea. I have 
therefore thought that an authentic account of it 
would be interesting and salutary, at the present 
moment, when we are suffering under the effects 



172 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

of a severe access of the credit system, and just 
recovering from one of its ruinous delusions. 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 

Before entering into the story of this famous 
chimera, it is proper to give a few particulars 
concerning the individual who engendered it. 
John Law was born in Edinburgh, in 1671. 
His father, William Law, was a rich goldsmith, 
and left his son an estate of considerable value, 
called Lauriston, situated about four miles from 
Edinburgh. Goldsmiths, in those days, acted oc- 
casionally as bankers, and his father's operations, 
imder this character, may have originally turned 
the thoughts of the youth to the science of calcu- 
lation, in which he became an adept ; so that at 
an eai'ly age he excelled in playing at all games 
of combination. 

In 1694, he appeared in London, where a hand- 
some person and an easy and insinuating address 
gained him currency in the first circles, and the 
nickname of " Beau Law." The same personal 
advantages gave him success in the world of gal- 
lantry, until he became involved in a quarrel with 
Beau Wilson, his rival in fashion, Avhom he killed 
in a duel, and then tied to France to avoid prose- 
cution. 

He returned to Edinburgh in 1700, and re- 
mained there several years ; during which time 
he first broached his great credit system, offering 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 173 

to supply the deficiency of coin by tlie establish- 
ment of a bank, which, according to his views, 
mij>:ht emit a paper currency equivalent to the 
whole huuled estate of the kingdom. 

His scheme excited great astonishment in Ed- 
inburgh ; but, though the government was not 
sufficiently advanced in financial knowledge to 
detect the fallacies upon which it was founded, 
Scottish caution and suspicion served in place of 
wisdom, and the project was rejected. Law met 
with no better success with the English parlia- 
ment ; and the fatal affair of the death of Wilson 
still hano-ino; over him, for which he had never been 
able to procure a pardon, he again went to France. 

The financial affairs of France were at this 
time in a deplorable condition. The wars, the 
pomp, and profusion of Louis XIV., and his relig- 
ious persecutions of whole classes of the most in- 
dustrious of his subjects, had exhausted his treas- 
ury, and overwhelmed the nation with debt. The 
old monarch clung to his selfish magnificence, and 
could not be induced to diminish his enormous 
expenditure ; and his minister of finance was 
driven to his Avits' end to devise all kinds of dis- 
astrous expedients to keep up the royal state, and 
to extricate the nation from its embarrassments. 

In this state of things Law ventured to bring 
forward his financial project. It was founded on 
the plan of the Bank of England, which had al- 
ready been in successful operation several years. 
He met with immediate patronage and a conge- 
nial spirit in the Duke of Orleans, who had mar- 
ried a natural daughter of the king. The duke 



174 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

had been astonished at the facility with which 
England had supported the burden of a public 
debt, created by the wars of Anne and William, 
and which exceeded in amount that under which 
France was groanino;. The whole matter was 
soon explained by Law to his satisfaction. The 
latter maintained that England had stopped at 
the mere threshold of an art capable of creating 
unlimited sources of national wealth. The duke 
was dazzled with his splendid views and specious 
reasonings, and thought he clearly comprehended 
his system. Demarets, the Comptroller-General 
of Finance, was not so easily deceived. He pro- 
nonnced the plan of Law more pernicious than 
any of the disastrous expedients that the govern- 
ment had yet been driven to. The old king also, 
Louis XIV., detested all innovations, especially 
those which came from a rival nation : the project 
of a bank, therefore, was utterly rejected. 

Law remained for a while in Paris, leading 
a gay and affluent existence, owing to his hand- 
some person, easy manners, flexible temper, and 
a faro-bank which he had set up. His agreeable 
career was interrupted by a message from D'Ar- 
genson, Lieutenant-General of Police, ordering 
him to quit Paris, alleging that he was " rather 
too skilful at the game which he had introduced ! " 

For several succeeding years he shifted his 
residence from state to state of Italy and Ger- 
many, offering his scheme of finance to every 
court that he visited, but without success. The 
Duke of Savoy, Victor Amadeas, afterward King 
of Sardinia, was much struck with his project; 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 175 

but after considering it for a time, replied, " / am 
not S2(fficie7itl?/ powerful to ruin mi/self." 

The shifting, adventurous life of Law, and the 
equivocal means by which he appeared to live, 
playing high, and always with great success, 
threw a cloud of suspicion over him wherever he 
went, and caused him to be expelled by the mag- 
istracy from the semi-commercial, semi-aristo- 
cratical cities of Venice and Genoa. 

The events of 1715 brought Law back again 
to Paris. Louis XIV. was dead. Louis XV. was 
a mere child, and during his minority the Duke 
of Orleans held the reins of government as Re- 
gent. Law had at length found his man. 

The Duke of Orleans has been differently 
represented by different contemporaries. He ap- 
pears to have had excellent natural qualities, 
perverted by a bad education. He was of the 
middle size, easy and graceful, with an agreeable 
countenance, and open, affable demeanor. His 
mind was quick and sagacious, rather than pro- 
found ; and his quickness of intellect and ex- 
cellence of memory supplied the lack of studious 
application. His wit was prompt and pungent; 
he expressed himself with vivacity and precision ; 
his imagination was vivid, his temperament san- 
guijie and joyous, his courage daring. His mother, 
the Duchess of Orleans, expressed his character 
in a jeu d esprit. " The fairies," said she, "were 
invited to be present at his birth, and each one 
conferring a talent on my son, he possesses them 
all. Unfortunately, we had forgotten to invite an 
old fairy, wlio, arriving after all the others, ex- 



176 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

(claimed, " He shall have all the talents, excepting 
that to make good use of them." ' 

Under proper tuition, the duke might have 
risen to real greatness : but in his early years he 
was put under the tutelage of the Abbe Dubois, 
one of the subtlest and basest spirits that ever 
intrigued its way into eminent place and power. 
The Abbe was of low origin and despicable ex- 
terior, totally destitute of morals, and perfiduous 
in the extreme; but with a supple, insinuating 
address, and an accommodating spirit, tolerant of 
all kinds of profligacy in others. Conscious of 
his own inherent baseness, he sought to secure an 
influence over his pupil by corrupting his prin- 
ciples and fostering his vices ; he debased him, to 
keep himself from being despised. Unfortunately 
he succeeded. To the early precepts of this in- 
famous pander have been attributed those excesses 
that disgraced the manhood of the Regent, and 
gave a licentious character to his whole course of 
government. His love of pleasure, quickened 
and indulged by those who should have restrained 
it, led him into all kinds of sensual indulgence. 
He had been taught to think lightly of the most 
serious duties and sacred ties, to turn virtue into 
a jest, and consider religion mere hypocrisy. He 
was a gay misanthrope, that had a sovereign but 
sportive contempt for mankind ; believed that his 
most devoted servant Avould be his enemy if in- 
terest prompted, and maintained that an honest 
man was he who had the art to conceal that he 
was the contrary. 

He surrounded himself with a set of dissolute 



THE GREAT AflSSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 177 

men like himself, who, let loose from the restraint 
under which they had been held during the latter 
iiypocritical days of Louis XIV., now gave way 
to evej'y kind of debauchery. Witli these men 
the Reaent used to shut himself up, after the 
hours of business, and excluding all graver per- 
sons and graver concerns, celebrate the most 
druid^en and disgusting orgies, where obscenity 
and blasphemy formed the seasoning of conversa- 
tion. For the profligate companions of these 
revels he invented the appellation of his roues, 
the literal meaning of which is, men broken on 
the wheel ; intended, no doubt, to express their 
broken-down characters and dislocated fortunes ; 
although a contemporary asserts that it designated 
the punishment that most of them merited. 
Madame de Labran, who was present at one of 
the Regent's suppers, was disgusted by the con- 
duct and conversation of the host and his guests, 
and observed at table, that God, after he had cre- 
ated man, took the refuse clay that was left and 
made of it the souls of lackeys and princes. 

Such was the man that now ruled the destinies 
of France. Law found him full of perplexities 
from the disastrous state of the finances. He had 
already tampered with the coinage, calling in the 
coin of the nation, restamping it, and issuing it 
at a nominal increase of one fifth, thus defrauding 
the nation out of twenty per cent, of its capital. 
He was not likely, therefore, to be scrupulous 
about any means likely to relieve him from finan- 
cial difficulties ; he had even been led to listen to 
the cruel alternative of a national bankruptcy. 
12 



178 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

Under these circumstances Law confidently 
brought forward his scheme of a bank that was 
to pay off the national debt, increase the revenue, 
and at the same time diminish the taxes. The 
following is stated as the theory by which he rec- 
ommended his system to the Regent. The credit 
enjoyed by a banker or a merchant, he observed, 
increases his capital tenfold ; that is to say, he 
who has a capital of one hundred thousand livres, 
may, if he possess sufficient credit, extend his 
operations to a million, and reap profits to that 
amount. In like manner, a state that can collect 
into a bank all the current coin of the kingdom, 
would be as powerful as if its capital were in- 
creased ten fold. The specie must be drawn into 
the bank, not by way of loan, or by taxations, but 
in the way of deposit. This might be effected in 
different modes, either by inspiring confidence, or 
by exerting authority. One mode, he observed, 
had already been in use. Each time that a state 
makes a recoinage, it becomes momentarily the 
depository of all the money called in belonging to 
the subjects of that state. His bank was to eflTect 
the same purpose ; that is to say, to receive in de- 
posit all the coin of the kingdom, but to give in 
exchange its bills, which, being of an invariable 
value, bearing an interest, and being payable on 
demand, would not only supply the place of coin, 
but prove a better and more profitable currency. 

The Regent caught with avidity at the scheme. 
It suited his bold, reckless spirit and his grasping 
extravagance. Not that he was altogetlier tlie 
dupe of Law's specious projects ; still he was apt, 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 179 

like many other men unskilled in the arcana of 
finance, to mistake the multiplication of money for 
the multiplication of wealth, not understanding 
fhat it was a mere agent or instrument in the 
interchange of traffic, to represent the value of 
t!ie various productions of industry ; and that an 
increased circulation of coin or bank-bills, in the 
shape of ciuTency, only adds a proportionably in- 
creased and fictitious value to such productions. 
Law enlisted the vanity of the Regent in his 
cause. He persuaded him that he saw more 
clearly than others into sublime theories of finance, 
which were quite above the ordinary apprehension. 
lie used to declare that, excepting the Regent tuid 
the Duke of Savoy, no one had thoroughly com- 
prehended his system. 

It is certain that it met with strong opposition 
from the Regent's ministers, tlie Duke de Noailles 
and the Chancellor d'Anguesseau, and it was no 
less strenuously opposed by the parliament of 
Paris. Law, however, had a potent though secret 
coadjutor in the Abbe Dubois, now rising, during 
the regency, into great political power, and who 
jetained a baneful influence over the mind of the 
Regent. This wily priest, as avaricious as he 
was ambitious, drew large sums from Law as 
subsidies, and aided him greatly in many of his 
most pernicious operations. He aided him, in the 
pi-esent instance, to fortify the mind of the Regent 
against all the remonstrances of his ministers and 
(lie parliament. 

Accordingly, on the 2d of May, 1716, letters 
patent were granted to Law to establish a bank 



180 A TIME OF UNEXAAfPLED PROSPERITY. 

of deposit, discount, and circulation, under the 
firm of " Law and Company," to continue ibr 
twenty years. The ctipital was fixed at six mill- 
ions of livres, divided into shares of five hundred 
livres each, which were to be sold for twenty- 
five per cent, of the Regent's debased coin, and 
seventy-five per cent, of the public securities, 
which were then at a great reduction from their 
nominal value, and wdiich then amounted to nine- 
teen hundred millions. The ostensible object of 
the bank, as set forth in the patent, was to encour- 
age the commerce and manufactures of France. 
The louis-d'ors and crowns of the bank were 
always to retain the same standard of value, and 
its bills to be payable in them on demand. 

At the outset, while the bank was limited in 
its operations, and while its paper really repre- 
sented the specie in its vaults, it seemed to realize 
all that had been promised from it. It rapidly 
acquired public confidence and an extended circu- 
lation, and produced an activity in commerce un- 
known under the baneful goverimient of Louis 
XIV. As the bills of the bank bore an interest, 
and as it was stipulated they would be of invari- 
able value, and as hints had been artfully circu- 
lated that the coin would experience successive 
diminution, everybody hastened to the bank to 
exchange gold and silver for paper. So great 
became the throng of depositors, and so intense 
their eagern(\ss, that there was quite a press ^ 
and struggle at the back door, and a ludicrous' 
panic was awakened, as if there was danger of ' 
their not being admitted. An anecdote of the I 



TflE GRKAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 181 

tim(> relates tliat one of the clerks, with an 
oiiiinoas smile, called out to the struggling nnilti- 
tiule, ''Have a little patience, my friends; we 
mean to take all your money ; " an assertion dis- 
astrously verified in the sequel. 

Thus by the simple establishment of a bank, 
Law and the Regent obtained pledges of con- 
fidence for the consummation of farther and more 
complicated schemes, as yet hidden from the pub- 
lic. In a little while the bank shares rose enor- 
mously, and the amount of its notes in circulation 
exceeded one hundred and ten millions of livres. 
A subtle sti-oke of policy had rendered it popular 
with the aristocracy. Louis XIV. had, several 
years previously, imposed an income tax of a 
tenth, giving his royal word that it should cease 
in 1717. This tax had been exceedingly irksome 
to the privileged orders ; and, in the present dis- 
astrous times, they had dreaded an augmentation 
of it. In consequence of the successful operation 
of Law's scheme, however, the tax was abolished, 
and now nothing was to be heard among the no- 
bility and clergy but praises of the Regent and 
the bank. 

Hitherto all had gone well, and all might have 
continued to go well, had not the paper system 
been farther expanded. But Law had yet the 
grandest part of his scheme to develop. He 
had to open his ideal world of speculation, his 
El Dorado of mibounded wealth. The English 
had brought the vast imaginary commerce of the 
South Seas in aid of their banking operations. 
Law sought to bring, as an immense auxiliary of 



182 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

his bank, the whole trade of the Mississippi. Un- 
der this name was inchided not merely the river 
so called, but the vast region known as Louisi- 
ana, extendhig from north latitude 29° up to 
Canada in north latitude 40°. This country had 
been granted by Louis XTV. to the Sieur Crozat, 
but he had been induced to resign his patent. In 
conformity to the plea of Mr. Law, letters patent 
were granted in August, in 1717, for the creation 
of a commercial company, which was to have 
the colonizing of this country, and the monopoly 
of its trade and resources, and of the beaver or 
fur trade with Canada. It was called the West- 
ern, but became better known as the Mississippi 
Company. The capital was fixed at one hundred 
millions of livres, divided into shares, bearing an 
interest of four per cent., which were subscribed 
for in the public seciu'ities. As the bank was to 
cooperate with the company, the Regent ordered 
that its bills should be received the same as coin, 
in all payments of the public revenue. Law was 
appointed chief director of this company, which 
was an exact copy of the Earl of Oxford's South 
Sea Company, set on foot in 1711, and which 
distracted all England with the frenzy of specu- 
lation. In like manner with the delusive pic- 
turings given in that memorable scheme of the 
sources of rich trade to be opened in the South 
Sea countries. Law held forth magnificent pros- 
{)ects of the fortunes to be made in colonizing 
Louisiana, which was represented as a veritable 
land of promise, capable of yielding every variety 
of the most precious produce. Reports, too, wei e 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 183 

artfully circulated, with great mystery, as if to 
the " chosen few," of mines of gold and silver 
recently discovered in Louisiana, and which would 
insure instant wealth to the early purchasers. 
These confidential whispers, of course, soon be- 
came public ; and were confirmed by travellers 
fresh from the Mississippi, and doubtless bribed, 
who had seen the mines in question, and declared 
them superior in richness to those of Mexico and 
Peru. Nay more, ocular proof was furnished to 
public credulity, in ingots of gold, conveyed to 
th(i mint, as if just brought from the mines of 
Louisiana. 

Extraordinary measures were adopted to force 
a colonization. An edict was issued to collect 
and transport settlers to the Mississippi. The 
police lent its aid. The streets and prisons of 
Paris, and of the provincial cities, were swept 
of mendicants and vagabonds of all kinds, who 
were conveyed to Havre de Grace. About six 
thousand were crowded into ships, where no pre- 
cautions had been taken for their health or ac- 
commodation. Instruments of all kinds proper 
for the working of mines were ostentatiously pa- 
raded in public, and put on board the vessels ; 
and the whole set sail for this fabled El Dorado, 
which was to prove the grave of the greater part 
of its wretched colonists. 

D'Anguesseau, the chancellor, a man of probity 
and integrity, still lifted his voice against the 
paper system of Law, and his project of coloniza- 
tion, and was eloquent and prophetic in picturing 
the evils they were calculated to produce ; the 



1.S4 A TIM/': OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

private distress and public degradation ; tlie cor- 
ruption of morals and manners ; the triumph of 
knaves and scliemers ; the ruin of fortunes, and 
the downfall of families. He was incited more and 
more to this opposition by the Duke de Noaille^s, 
the Minister of Finance, who was jealous of the 
growing ascendency of Law over tlie mind of the 
Regent, but was less honest than the chancellor in 
his opposition. The Regent was excessively an- 
noyed by the difficulties they conjured up in the 
way of his darling schemes of finance, and the 
countenance they gave to the opposition of par- 
liament ; which body, disgusted more and more 
with the abuses of the regency, and the system 
of Law, had gone so far as to carry its remon- 
strances to the very foot of the throne. 

He determined to relieve himself from these 
two ministers, who, either through honesty or 
policy, inteifered with all his plans. Accordingly, 
on the 28th of January, 1718, he dismissed the 
chancellor from office, and exiled him to his estate 
in the country ; and shortly afterward removed 
the Duke de Noailles from the administration of 
the finance. 

The opposition of parliament to the Regent 
and his measures was carried on with increasing 
violence. That body aspired to an equal author- 
ity with the Regent in the administration of affairs, 
and pretended, by its decree, (o suspend an edict 
of the i-egency ordering a new coinage, and alter- 
ing the value of the currency. But its chief 
hostility was levelled against Law, a foreigner 
and a heretic, and one who was considered by a 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 185 

majority of the members in the light of a male- 
factor, lu fact, so far was this hostility carried, 
that secret measures were taken to investigate 
liis malversations, and to collect evidence against 
iiim ; and it was resolved in parliament that, 
should the testimony collected justity their sus- 
[)icions, they would have him seized and brought 
before them ; would give him a brief trial, and, 
if convicted, woidd hang him in the court-yard 
of the palace, and throw open the gates after the 
execution, that the public might behold his corpse ! 

I^aw received intimation of the danger hanging 
over him, and was in terrible trepidation. He 
took refuge in the Palais Royal, the residence of 
the Regent, and implored his protection. The Re- 
gent himself was embarrassed by the sturdy op- 
position of parliament, which contemplated nothing 
less than a decree reversing most of his public 
measures, especially those of finance. His inde- 
cision kept Law for a time in an agony of terror 
and suspense. Finally, by assembling a board 
of justice, and bringing to his aid the absolute 
authority of the king, lie triumphed over parlia- 
ment, and relieved Law from his dread of bein<r 
hanged. 

Tiie system now went on with flowing sail. 
The Western, or Mississippi Company, being 
identified with the bank, rapidly increased in 
power and privileges. One monopoly after an- 
other was granted to it, — the trade of the Indian 
Seas, the slave-trade with Senegal and Guinea, 
the farming of tobacco, the national coinage, etc. 
Each new privilege Avas made a pretext for issu- 



186 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITF. 

ing more bills, and caused an immense advance 
in the price of stock. At length, on the 4th of 
December, 1718, the Regent gave the establish- 
ment the imposing title of the Royal Bank, and 
proclaimed that he had effected the purchase of 
all the shares, the proceeds of which he had 
added to its capital. This measure seemed to 
shock the public feeling more than any other con- 
nected with the system, and roused the indigna- 
tion of parliament. The French nation had been 
so accustomed to attach an idea of everything 
noble, lofty, and magnificent, to the royal name 
and person, especially during the stately and 
y^umptuous reign of Louis XIV., that they could 
aot at first tolerate the idea of royalty being in 
any degree mingled with matters of traffic and 
finance, and the king being, in a manner, a banker. 
It was one of the downward steps, however, by 
which royalty lost its illusive splendor in France 
and became gradually cheapened in the public 
mind. 

Arbitrary measures now began to be taken to 
force the bills of tlie bank into artificial currency. 
On the 27th of December appeared an order in 
council, forbidding, under severe penalties, the 
payment of any sum above six hundred livres in 
gold or silver. This decree rendered bank-bills 
necessary in all transactions of purchase and sale, 
and called for a new emission. The prohibition 
was occasionally evaded or opposed ; confiscations 
were the consequence ; informers were rewarded, 
and spies and traitors began to spring up in aU 
the domestic walks of life. 



THE GREAT MlSSlSSIPPf BUBBLE. 187 

Tho worst effect of this illusive system was tlio 
mania for gain, or ratiier for gambling in stocks, 
that now seized upon the whole nation. Under 
tlie exciting effects of lying reports, and the fore 
ing effects of government decrees, the shares of 
the company went on rising in value, until they 
reached thirteen hundred per cent. Nothing was 
now spoken of but the price of shares, and the 
immense fortunes suddenly made by lucky spec- 
ulators. Those whom Law had deluded used 
every means to delude others. The most extrav- 
agant dreams were indulged concerning the wealth 
to flow in upon the company from its colonies, 
its trade, and its various monopolies. It is true 
notliing as yet had been realized, nor could in 
some time be realized, from these distant sources, 
even if productive ; but the imaginations of spec- 
ulators are ever in the advance, and their con- 
jectures are immediately converted into facts. 
Lying reports now flew from mouth to mouth, of 
sure avenues to fortune suddenly thrown open. 
The more extravagant the fable, the more readily 
was it believed. To doubt, was to awaken anger 
or incur ridicule. In a time of public infatuation 
it requires no small exercise of courage to doubt 
a popular fallacy. 

Paris now became the centre of attraction for 
the adventurous and the avaricious, who flocked 
to it not merely from the provinces, but from 
neighboring countries. A stock exchange was 
established in a house in the Rue Quincampoix, 
and became inunediately the gathering-place of 
stock-jobbers. The exchange opened at seven 



1^8 A rJMK OF UNEXAMPLED riiOSPERITY. 

o'clock with the beat of drum and sound of bell, 
and closed at night with the same sig-nals. Guards 
were stationed at each end of the street, to main- 
lain order and exclude carriages and horses. The 
whole street swarmed throughout the day like a 
beehive. Bargains of all kinds were seized upon 
with avidity. Shares of stock passed from hand 
to hand, mounting in value, one knew not wliy. 
Fortunes were made in a moment, as if by magic ; 
and every lucky bargain prompted those around 
to a more desperate throw of the dice. The 
fever went on, increasing in intensity as the day 
declined ; and when the drum beat and the bell 
ran<>; at night, to close the exchange, there were 
exclamations of impatience and despair, as if the 
Avheel of fortune had suddenly been stopped, when 
about to make its luckiest evolution. 

To ingulf all classes in tliis ruinous vortex, 
Law now split the shares of fifty millions of stock 
each into one hundred shares ; thus, as in the 
splitting of lottery tickets, accommodating the ven- 
ture to the humblest purse. Society was thus 
stirred up to its very di'egs, and adventurers of 
the lowest order hurried to the stock market. All 
honest, industrious pursuits and modest gains 
were now despised. Wealth was to be obtained 
instantly, without labor and without stint. The 
upper classes were as base in their venality as 
the lower. The highest and most powerful nobles, 
abandoning all generous pursuits and lofty aims, 
engaged in the vile scuffle for gain. They were 
even baser than the lower classes ; for some of 
them, who were members of the council of the 



THE GREAT MJSSISSJPPJ BUBBLE. 189 

regency, abused their station and their influence, 
and promoted measures by which sliares rose 
while in their hands, and they made immense 
profits. 

Tlie Duke de Bourbon, the Prince of Conti, 
the Dukes de hi Force and D'Antin, were among 
the foremost of tliese iUustrious stock-jobbers. 
They were nicknamed the Mississippi Lords, and 
they smiled at the sneering title. In fact, the 
usual distinctions of society had lost their conse- 
quence, under the reign of this new passion. 
Rank, talent, military fame, no longer inspired 
deference. All respect for others, all self-respect, 
were forgotten in the mercenary struggle of the 
stock-market. Even prelates and ecclesiastical 
corporations, forgetting their true objects of de- 
votion, minded amonof the votaries of Mammon. 
They were not behind those who wielded the civil 
power in fabricating ordinances suited to their 
avaricious purposes. Theological decisions forth- 
Avith appeared, in which the anathema launched 
by the Church against usury was conveniently 
construed as not extending to the traffic in bank 
shares ! 

The Abbe Dubois entered into the mysteries 
of stock-jobbing with all the zeal of an apostle, 
and em-iched himself by the spoils of the credu- 
lous ; and he continually drew large sums from 
Law% as considerations for his political influence. 
Faithless to his country, in the course of his 
gambling speculations he transferred to England 
a great amount of specie, which had been paid 
into tlie i-oyal treasury ; thus contributing to the 
subsequent dearth of the precious metals. 



190 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

The female sex participated in this sordid 
frenzy. Princesses of the blood, and ladies of 
the highest nobility, were among the most rapa- 
cious of stock-jobbers. The Regent seemed to 
have the riches of Croesus at his command, and 
lavished money by hundreds of thousands upon 
his female relatives and favorites, as w^ell as upon 
his roues, the dissolute companions of his de- 
bauches. " My son," writes the Regent's mother, 
in her correspondence, " gave me shares to the 
amount of two millions, which I distributed among 
my household. The king also took several mill- 
ions for his own household. All the royal fam- 
ily have had them ; all the children and grand- 
children of France, and the princes of the blood." 

Luxury and extravagance kept pace with thio 
sudden inflation of fancied wealth. The heredi- 
tary palaces of nobles were pulled down, and re- 
buih on a scale of augmented splendor. Enter- 
tainments were given, of incredible cost and mag- 
nificence. Never before had been such display 
in houses, furniture, equipages, and amusements. 
This was particularly the case among pei^ons of 
the lower ranks, who had suddenly become pos- 
sessed of millions. Ludicrous anecdotes are re- 
lated of some of these upstarts. One, who had 
just launched a splendid carriage, when about to 
use it for the first time, instead of getting in at 
the door, mounted, through habitude, to his accus- 
tomed place behind. Some ladies of quality, see- 
inir a well-dressed woman covered with diamonds, 
but whom nobody knew, alight from a very hand- 
some carriage, inquired who she was, of the foot* 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 191 

man. He replied, Avith a sneer, " It is a lady 
who has recently tumbled from a garret into this 
carriage." Mr. Law's domestics were said to be- 
come in like manner suddenly enriched by the 
crumbs that fell from his table. His coachman, 
having made a fortune, retired from his service. 
Mr. Law requested him to procure a coachman 
in his place. He appeared the next day with 
two, whom he pronounced equally good, and told 
Mr. Law, " Take which of them you choose, and 
I will take the other ! " 

Nor were these novi homini treated with the 
distance and disdain they would formerly have 
experienced from the haughty aristocracy of 
France. The pride of the old noblesse had been 
stifled by the stronger instinct of avarice. They 
rather sought the intimacy and confidence of these 
lucky upstarts ; and it has been observed that a 
nobleman would gladly take his seat at the table 
of the fortunate lackey of yesterday, in hopes of 
learning from him the secret of growing rich ! 

Law now went about with a countenance ra- 
diant with success, and apparently dispensing 
wealth on every side. " He is admirably skilled 
in all that relates to finance," writes the Duchess 
of Orleans, the Regent's mother, " and has put 
the affairs of the state in such good order, that 
all the king's debts have been paid. He is so 
much run after, that he has no repose night or 
day. A duchess even kissed his hand publicly. 
If a duchess can do this, what will other ladies 
do ! " 

Wherever he went his path, we are told, was 



192 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

beset by a sordid throng, who waited to see him 
pass, and sought to obtain the favor of a word, a 
nod, or smile, as if a mere ghince from him would 
bestow fortune. When at home his house was 
absolutely besieged by furious candidates for for- 
tune. " They forced the doors," says the Duke 
de St. Simon ; " they scaled his windows from 
the garden ; they made their way into his cabinet 
down the chimney ! " 

The same venal court was paid by all classes 
to his family. The highest ladies of the court 
vied with each other in meannesses, to purchase 
the lucrative friendship of Mrs. Law and her 
daughter. They waited upon them with as much 
assiduity and adulation as if they had been prin- 
cesses of the blood. The Regent one day ex- 
pressed a desire that some duchess should accom- 
pany his daughter to Genoa. " My Lord," said 
some one present, " if you would have a choice 
from among the duchesses, you need but send to 
Mrs. Law's ; you will tind them all assembled 
there." 

The wealth of Law rapidly increased with the 
expansion of the bubble. In the course of a few 
mouths he purchased fourteen titled estates, pay- 
ing for them in paper ; and the public hailed 
these sudden and vast acquisitions of landed prop- 
erty, as so many proofs of the soundness of his 
system. In one mstance he met with a shrewd 
bargainer, who had not the general faith in his 
paper money. The President de Novion insisted i 
on being paid for an estate in hard coin. Law 
accordingly brought the amount, four hundred I 



THE GREAT MISHIHISIPPI BUBBLE. 193 

thousand livres, in specie, saying, with a sarcastic 
smile, that he preferred paying in money, as its 
weight rendered it a mere incumbrance. As it 
happened, the President could give no clear title 
to the land, and the money had to be refunded. 
He paid it back ^V^ paper, which Law dared not 
refuse, lest he should depreciate it in the market ! 

The course of illusory credit went on triumph- 
antly for eighteen months. Law had nearly ful- 
filled one of his promises, for the greater part of 
the public debt had been paid off ; but how paid ? 
In bank shares, which had been trumped up sev- 
eral hundred per cent, above their value, and 
which were to vanish like smoke in the hands of 
the holders. 

One of the most striking attributes of Law, 
was the imperturbable assurance and self-posses- 
sion with which he replied to every objection and 
found a solution for every problem. He had the 
dexterity of a juggler in evading difficulties ; and 
what was peculiar, made figures themselves, which 
are the very elements of exact demonstration, the 
means to dazzle and bewilder. 

Toward the latter end of 1719 the Mississippi 
scheme had reached its highest point of glory. 
Half a million of strangers had crowded into 
Paris, in quest of fortune. The hotels and lodg- 
ing-liouses were overflowing ; lodgings were pro- 
cured with excessive difficulty ; granaries were 
turned into bedrooms ; provisions had risen enoi- 
mously in price ; splendid houses were multiply- 
ing on every side ; the streets were crowded with 
13 



194 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

carriages ; above a thousand new equipages had 
been launched. 

On the eleventh of December Law obtained 
another prohibitory decree, for the purpose of 
sweeping all the remaining specie in circulation 
into the bank. By this it was forbidden to make 
any payments in silver above ten livres, or in 
gold above three hundred. 

The repeated decrees of this nature, the object 
of which was to depreciate the value of gold and 
increase the illusive credit of paper, began to 
awaken doubts of a system which required such 
bolstering. Capitalists gradually awoke from their 
bewilderment. Sound and able financiers con- 
sulted together, and agreed to make common 
cause against this continual expansion of a paper 
system. The shares of the bank and of the com- 
pany began to decline in value. Wary men took 
the alarm, and began to realize, a word now first 
brought into use, to express the conversion of 
ideal property into something real. 

The Prince of Conti, one of the most promi- 
nent and grasping of the Mississippi lords, was 
the first to give a blow to the credit of the bank. 
There was a mixture of ingratitude in his con- 
duct that characterized the venal baseness of the 
times. He had received, from time to time, enor- 
mous sums from Law, as the price of his influence 
and patronage. His avarice had increased wit)} 
every acquisition, until Law was compelled to re- 
fuse one of his exactions. In revenge, the prince 
immediately sent such an amount of paper to the 
bank to be cashed, that it required four wagons 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 195 

to biing away the silver, and he had the mean- 
ness to loll out of the whidow of his hotel, and 
jest and exult, as it was trundled into his port 
cochere. 

This was the signal for other drains of like na- 
ture. The English and Dutch merchants, who 
iiad purchased a great amount of bank paper at 
low prices, cashed them at the bank, and carried 
the money out of the country. Other strangers 
did the like, thus draining the kingdom of its spe- 
cie, and leaving paper in its place. 

The Regent, perceiving these symptoms of de- 
cay in the system, sought to restore it to public 
confidence by conferring marks of confidence upon 
its author. He accordingly resolved to make Law 
Comptroller-General of the Finances of France. 
There was a material obstacle in the way. Law 
was a Protestant, and the Regent, unscrupulous 
jis he was himself, did not dare publicly to out- 
rage the severe edicts which Louis XIV., in his 
bigot days, had fulminated against all heretics. 
Law soon let him know that there would be no 
difficulty on that head. He was ready at any 
moment to abjure his religion in the way of busi- 
ness. For decency's sake, however, it was judged 
proper he should previously be convinced and con- 
verted. A ghostly instructor was soon found ready 
to accomplish his conversion in the shortest possi- 
ble time. This was the Abbe Tencin, a profli- 
gate creature of the profligate Dubois, and like 
him working his way to ecclesiastical promotion 
and temporal wealth by the basest means. 

Under the instructions of the Abbe Tencin, 



196 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

Law soon mastered the mysteries and dogmas of 
the Catholic doctrine ; and, after a brief course 
of ghostly training, declared himself thoroughly 
convinced and converted. To avoid the sneers 
and jests of the Parisian public, the ceremony of 
abjuration took place at Melun. Law made a 
pious present of one hundred thousand livi-es to 
the Church of St. Roque, and the Abbe Tencin 
was rewarded for his edifying labors by sundry 
shares and bank-bills, which he shrewdly took 
care to convert into cash, having as little faith in 
the system as in the piety of his new convert. A 
more grave and moral community might have 
been outraged by this scandalous farce ; but the 
Parisians laughed at it with their usual levity, 
,and contented themselves with making it the sub- 
ject of a number of songs and epigrams. 

Law being now orthodox in his faith, took out 
letters of naturalization, and having thus sur- 
mounted the intervening obstacles, was elevated 
by the Regent to the post of Comptroller-Gen- 
eral. So accustomed had the community become 
to all juggles and transmutations in this hero of 
finance, that no one seemed shocked or astonished 
at his sudden elevation. On the contrary, being 
now considered perfectly established in place and 
power, he became more than ever the object of 
venal adoration. Men of rank and dignity 
thronged his antechamber, waiting patiently their 
turn for an audience ; and titled dames demeaned 
themselves to take the front seats of the carriages 
of his wife and daughter, as if they^ had been 
riding with princesses of the blood royal. Law's 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 197 

head grew giddy with his elevation, and he began 
to aspire after aristocratical distinction. There 
was to be a court ball, at which several of the 
young noblemen were to dance in a ballet with 
tlie youthful king. Law requested that his son 
might be admitted into the ballet, and the Regent 
consented. The young scions of nobility, how- 
ever, were indignant, and scouted the " intruding 
upstart." Their more worldly parents, fearful of 
displeasing the modern Midas, reprimanded them 
in vain. The striplings had not yet inibibed the 
passion for gain, and still held to their high blood. 
The son of the banker received slights and an- 
noyances on all sides, and the public applauded 
them for their spirit. A fit of illness came op- 
portunely to relieve the youth from an honor 
which would have cost him a world of vexations 
and affronts. 

In February, 1720, shortly after Law's in- 
stalment in office, a decree came out uniting the 
bank to the India Company, by which last name 
the whole establishment was now known. The 
decree stated, that, as the bank was royal, the king 
was bound to make good the value of its bills ; 
that he committed to the company the govern- 
ment of the bank for fifty years, and sold to it 
fifty millions of stock belonging to him, for nine 
hundred millions, a simple advance of eighteen 
'hundred per cent. The decree farther declared, 
iu the king's name, that he would never draw on 
the bank until the value of his drafts had first 
been lodged in it by his receivers-general. 

The bank, it was said, had by this time issued 



198 A -TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

notes to the amount of one thousand millions, 
being more paper than all tlie banks of Europe 
were able to circulate. To aid its credit, the 
receivers of the revenue were directed to take 
bank-notes of the sub-receivers. All payments, 
also, of one hundred livres and upward, were 
ordered to be made in bank-notes. These com- 
pulsory measures for a short time gave a false 
credit to the bank, which proceeded to discount 
merchants' notes, to lend money on jewels, plate, 
and other valuables, as well as on mortojao^es. 

Still farther to force on the system, an edict 
next appeared, forbidding any individual, or any 
corporate body, civil or religious, to hold in pos- 
session more than five hundred livres in current 
coin ; that is to say, about seven louis-d'ors ; the 
value of the louis-d'or in paper being, at the time, 
seventy-two livres. All the gold and silver they 
might have, above this pittance, was to be brought 
to the royal bank, and exchanged either for shares 
or bills. 

As confiscation was the penalty of disobedience 
to this decree, and informers were assured a share 
of the forfeitures, a bounty was in a manner held 
out to domestic spies and traitors, and the most 
odious scrutiny was awakened into the pecuniary 
affairs of families and individuals. The very con- 
fidence between friends and relatives was impaired, 
and all the domestic ties and virtues of society 
were threatened, until a general sentiment of in- 
dignation broke forth, that compelled the Regent 
to rescind the odious decree. Lord Stairs, the 
British ambassador, speaking of the system of 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 199 

espioiiiige encouraged by tliis edict, observed that 
it WHS impossible to doubt that Law was a thorough 
Catholic, since he had thus established the inqui- 
sition, after having already proved transuhstanti- 
ation by changing specie into paper. 

Equal abuses liad taken place under the col- 
onizing project. In his thousand expedients to 
amass capital. Law had sold parcels of land in 
Mississippi, at the rate of three thousand livres for 
a league square. Many capitalists had purchased 
estates large enough to constitute almost a princi- 
pality ; the only evil was, Law had sold a property 
which he could not deliver. The agents of police, 
wiio aided in recruiting the ranks of the colonists, 
had been guilty of scandalous impositions. Under 
pretence of taking up mendicants and vagabonds, 
tliey had scoured the streets at night, seizing 
upon honest mechanics or their sons, and hurry- 
ing them to their crimping-houses for the sole 
purpose of extorting money from them as a ran- 
som. The populace was roused to indignation by 
these abuses. The officers of police were mobbed 
in the exercise of their odious functions, and sev- 
eral of them were killed, which put an end to this 
flagrant abuse of power. 

In March, a most extraordinary decree of the 
council fixed the price of shares of the India 
Company at nine thousand livres each. All ec- 
clesiastical communities and hospitals were now 
prohibited from investing money at interest in any- 
thing but India stock. With all these props and 
stays, the system continued to totter. How could 
it be otherwise, under a despotic gover.iiiL'sijt 



200 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

that could alter the value of property at every 
moment ? The very compulsory measures tliat 
were adopted to establish the credit of the bank 
hastened its fall, plainly showing there was a want 
of solid security. Law caused pamphlets to be 
published, setting forth, in eloquent language, the 
vast profits that must accrue to holders of the stock, 
and the impossibility of the king's ever doing it 
any harm. On the very back of these assertions 
came forth an edict of the king, dated the 22d of 
May, wherein, under pretence of having reduced 
the value of his coin, it was declared necessary to 
reduce the value of his bank-notes one half, and 
of the India shares from nine thousand to five 
thousand livres ! 

This decree came like a clap of thunder upon 
share-holders. They found one half of the pre- 
tended value of the paper in their hands an- 
nihilated in an instant; and what certainty had 
they with respect to the other half? The rich 
considered themselves ruined ; those in humbler 
circumstances looked forward to abject beggary. 

The parliament seized the occasion to stand 
forth as the protector of the public, and refused 
to register the decree. It gained the credit of 
compelling the Regent to retrace his step, though 
it is more probable he yielded to the universal 
burst of public astonishment and reprobation. 
On the 27th of May the edict was revoked, and 
bank-bills were restored to their previous value. 
But the fatal blow had been struck ; the delusion 
was at an end. Government itself had lost all 
public confidence equally with the bank it had 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 20 \ 

engendered, and which its own arbitrary acts had 
brought into discredit. "All Paris," says the 
Regent's mother, in her letters, " has been mourn- 
ing at the cursed decree which Law has persuaded 
my son to make. I have received anonymous let- 
ters stating that I have nothing to fear on my own 
account, but that my son shall be pursued with 
Hi-e and sword." 

The Regent now endeavored to avert the odium 
of his ruinous schemes from himself He affected 
to have suddenly lost confidence in Law, and on 
the 29th of May discharged him from his employ 
as Comptroller-General, and stationed a Swiss 
guard of sixteen men in his house. He even 
refused to see him, when, on the following day, 
he applied at the portal of the Palais Royal for 
admission ; but having played off this farce before 
the public, he admitted him secretly the same 
night, by a private door, and continued as before 
to cooperate with him in his financial schemes. 

On the first of June, tlie Regent issued a de- 
cree permitting persons to have as much money 
as they pleased in their possession. Few, how- 
ever, were in a state to benefit by this permis- 
sion. There was a run upon the bank, but a royal 
ordinance immediately suspended payment until 
further orders. To relieve the public mind, a 
city stock was created of twenty-five millions, 
bearing an interest of two and a half per cent., 
for which bank-notes were taken in exchange. 
Tlie bank-notes thus withdrawn from circulation 
were publicly burnt before the Hotel de Ville. 
The public, however, had lost confidence in every- 



202 A TIMh: OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 

thing and everybody, and suspected fraud and 
collusion in those who pretended to burn the 
bills. 

A general confusion now took place in the 
financial world. Families who had lived in opu- 
lence found themselves suddenly reduced to in- 
digence. Schemers who had been revelling in 
the delusion of princely fortunes found their 
estates vanishing into thin air. Those who had 
any property remaining sought to secure it against 
reverses. Cautious persons found there was no 
safety for property in a country where the coin 
was continually shifting in value, and where a 
despotism was exercised over public securities, 
and even over the private purses of individuals. 
They began to send their effects into other 
countries ; when lo ! on the 20th of June, a royal 
edict commanded them to bring back their effects, 
under penalty of forfeiting twice their value, and 
forbade them, under like penalty, from investing 
their money in foreign stocks. This was soon 
followed by another decree, forbidding any one to 
retain precious stones in his possession, or to sell 
them to foreigners ; all must be deposited in the 
bank hi exchange for depreciating paper ! 

Execrations were now poured out, on all sides, 
ngainst Law, and menaces of vengeance. What 
a contrast, in a short time, to the venal incense 
once offered up to him ! " This person," writes 
the Regent's mother, " who was formerly wor- 
shipped as a god, is now not sure of his life. It 
is astonishing how greatly terrified he is. He is 
as a dead man ; he is pale as a sheet, and it is 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 203 

said he can never get over it. My son is not 
dismayed, tlioniili he is threatened on all sides, 
and is very much amused with Law's terrors." 

About tlie middle of July, the last grand at- 
tempt was made by Law and the Regent to keep 
up the system and provide for the immense emis- 
sion of paper. A decree was fabricated, giving 
the India Company the entire monopoly of com- 
merce, on condition that it would, in the course 
of a year, reimburse six hundred millions of 
livres of its bills, at the rate of fifty millions per 
month. 

On the 17th this decree was sent to parliament 
to be registered. It at once raised a storm of 
opposition in that assembly, and a vehement 
discussion took place. While that was going 
on, a disastrous scene was passing out of doors. 

The calamitous eifects of the system had 
reached the humblest concerns of human life. 
Provisions had risen to an enormous price ; paper 
money was refused at all the shops ; the people 
had not wherewithal to buy bread. It had been 
found absolutely indispensable to relax a little 
from the suspension of specie payments, and to 
allow small sums to be scantily exchanged for 
paper. The doors of the bank and the neighbor- 
ing street were immediately thronged with a fam- 
ishinsf multitude seekin^j cash for bank-notes of 
ten livres. So great was the press and struggle, 
that several persons were stifled and crushed to 
death. The mob carried three of the bodies to 
the court-yard of the Palais Royal. Some cried 
for the Regent to come forth, and behold the 



204 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

effect of his system ; others demanded the death 
of Law, the impostor, who had brought this 
misery and ruin upon the nation. 

The moment was critical : the popular fury 
was rising to a tempest, when Le Blanc, the 
Secretary of State, stepped forth. He had pre- 
viously sent for the military, and now only sought 
to gain time. Singling out six or seven stout 
fellows, who seemed to be the ringleaders of tlie 
mob, " My good fellows," said he, calmly, " carry 
away these bodies, and place them in some church, 
and then come back quickly to me for your pay." 
They immediately obeyed ; a kind of funeral pro- 
cession was formed ; the arrival of troops dis- 
persed those who lingered behind ; and Paris was 
probably saved from an insurrection. 

About ten o'clock in the morning, all being 
quiet, Law ventured to go in his carriage to the 
Palais Royal. He was saluted with cries and 
curses as he passed along the streets ; and he 
reached the Palais Royal in a terrible fright. 
The Regent amused himself with his fears, but 
retained him Avith him, and sent off his carriage, 
which was assailed by the mob, pelted with stones, 
and the glasses shivered. The news of this out- 
rage was communicated to parliament in the 
midst of a furious discussion of the decree for 
the commercial monopoly. The first president, 
who had been absent for a short time, reentered, 
and communicated the tidings in a whimsical 
couplet : 

" Messieurs, Messieurs ! bonne nouvelle ! 
Le carrosse de Law est reduit en carrelle ! " 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 20o 

" Gentlemen, Gentlemen! good news! 
The carriage of Law is shivered to atoms ! " 

The members sprang up with joy. "And 
Law ! " exclaimed they, " has he been torn to 
pieces ? " The president was ignorant of the 
result of the tumult ; whereupon the debate was 
cut short, the decree rejected, and the house 
adjourned, the members hurrying to learri the 
particulars. Such was the levity with which 
public affairs were treated at that dissolute and 
disastrous period. 

On the following day there was an ordinance 
from the king, prohibiting all popular assem- 
blages ; and troops were stationed at various 
points, and in all public places. The regiment 
of guards was ordered to hold itself in readiness, 
and the musketeers to be at their hotels, with 
their horses ready saddled. A number of small 
offices were opened, where people might cash 
small notes, though with great delay and diffi- 
culty. An edict was also issued, declaring that 
whoever should refuse to take bank-notes in the 
course of trade, should forfeit double the amount ! 

The continued and vehement opposition of 
parliament to the whole delusive system of finance 
had been a constant source of annoyance to the 
Regent ; but this obstinate rejection of his last 
grand expedient of a commei'cial monopoly was 
not to be tolerated. He determined to punish 
that intractable body. The Abbe Dubois and 
Law suggested a simple mode ; it was to sup- 
press the parliament altogether, being, as they ob- 
served, so far from useful, that it was a constant 



206 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

impediment to the march of public affairs. The 
Regent was half inclined to listen to their advice ; 
but upon calmer consideration, and the advice of 
friends, he adopted a more moderate course. On 
the 20th of July, early in the morning, all the 
doors of the parliament-house were taken posses- 
sion of by the troops. Others were sent to sur- 
round the house of the first president, and others 
to the houses of the various members ; who were 
all at first in great alarm, until an order from the 
king was put into their hands, to render them- 
selves at Pontoise, in the course of two days, to 
whicii place the parliament was thus suddenly and 
arbitrarily transferred. 

This despotic act, says Voltaire, would at any 
other time have caused an insurrection ; but one 
half of the Parisians were occupied by their ruin, 
and the other half by their fancied riches, whicli 
were soon to vanish. The president and members 
of parliament acquiesced in the mandate without 
a murmur ; they even went as if on a party of 
pleasure, and made every preparation to lead a 
joyous life in their exile. The musketeers, who 
held possession of the vacated parliament-house, 
a gay corps of fashionable young fellows, amused 
themselves with making songs and pasquinades, 
at the expense of the exiled legislators ; and at 
length, to pass away time, formed themselves into 
a mock parliament ; elected their presidents, kings, 
ministers, and advocates ; took their seats in due 
form ; arraigned a cat at their bar, in place of the 
Sieur Law, and, after giving it a " fair trial," con- 
demned it to be hanged. In this manner, public 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 207 

affairs and public institutions were lightly turned 
to jest. 

As to the exiled parliament, it lived gayly and 
luxuriously at Pontoise, at the public expense ; 
for tiie Regent had furnished funds, as usual, with 
a lavish hand. The first president had the man- 
sion of the Duke de Bouillon put at his disposal, 
all ready furnished, with a vast and delightful gar- 
den on the borders of a river. There he kept 
open house to all the members of parliament. 
Several tables were spread every day, all furnished 
luxuriously and splendidly ; the most exquisite 
wines and liquors, the choicest fruits and refresh- 
ments of all kinds, abounded. A number of small 
chariots for one and two horses were always at 
hand, for such ladies and old gentlemen as wished 
to take an airing after dinner, and card and bill- 
iard tables for such as chose to amuse themselves 
in that way until supper. The sister and the 
daughter of the first president did the honors of 
his house, and he himself presided there with an 
air of great ease, hospitality, and magnificence. 
It became a party of pleasure to drive from Paris 
to Pontoise, which was six leagues distant, and 
partake of the amusements and festivities of the 
place. Business was openly slighted ; nothing 
was thought of but amusement. The Regent 
and his government were laughed at, and made 
the subjects of continual pleasantries ; while the 
enormous expenses incurred by this idle and lav- 
ish course of life more than doubled the liberal 
sums provided. Tliis was the way in which the 
parliament resented their exile. 



208 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

During all this time the system was getting 
more and more involved. The stock exchange 
had some time previously been removed to the 
Place Vendome ; but the tumult and noise be- 
coming intolerable to the residents of that polite 
quarter, and especially to the chancellor, whose 
hotel was there, the Prince and Princess Carig- 
nan, both deep gamblers in Mississippi stock, of- 
fered the extensive gardeirof their Hotel de Sois- 
sons as a rallying-place for the worshippers of 
Mammon. The offer was accepted. A number 
of barracks were immediately erected in the gar- 
den, as offices for the stock-brokers, and an order 
was obtained from the Regent, under pretext of 
police regulations, that no bargain should be valid, 
unless concluded in these barracks. The rent of 
them immediately mounted to a hundred livres a 
month for each, and the whole yielded these no- 
ble proprietors an ignoble revenue of half a mill- 
ion of livres. 

The mania for gain, however, was now at an 
end. A universal panic succeeded. " Sauve qui 
peut ! ^^ was the watchword. Every one was 
anxious to exchange falling paper for something 
of intrinsic and permanent value. Since money 
was not to be had, jewels, precious stones, plate, 
porcelain, trinkets of gold and silver, all com- 
manded any price, in paper. Land was bought 
at fifty years' purchase, and he esteemed himself 
happy who could get it even at this price. Mo- 
nopolies now became the rage among the noble 
holders of paper. The Duke de la Force bought 
up nearly all the tallow, grease, and soap ; others. 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 209 

the coffee and spices ; others, hay and oats. For- 
eign exchanges were almost impracticable. The 
debts of Dutch and English merchants were paid 
in this fictitious money, all the coin of the realm 
having disapjieared. All the relations of debtor 
and creditor were confounded. With one thou- 
sand crowns one might pay a debt of eighteen 
thousand livres. 

The Regent's mother, who once exulted in the 
affluence of bank paper, now wrote in a very dif- 
ferent tone. " I have often wished," said she, in 
her letters, " that these bank-notes were in the 
depths of the infernal regions. They have given 
my son more trouble than relief. Nobody in 

France has a penny My son was once 

popular ; but since the arrival of this cursed Law 
he is hated more and more. Not a week passes 
without my receiving letters filled with frightful 
threats, and speaking of him as a tyrant. I have 
just received one, threatening him with poison. 
When I showed it to him, he did nothing but 
laugh." 

h\ the mean time, Law w^as dismayed by the 
hicreasing troubles, and tenified at the tempest 
he had raised. He was not a man of real cour- 
age ; and, fearing for his personal safety, from 
popular tumult, or the despair of ruined individ- 
uals, he again took refuge in the palace of the 
Regent. The latter, as usual, amused himself 
with his terrors, and turned every new disaster 
Into a jest ; but he, too, began to think of his 
own secui'ity. 

In pursuing the schemes of Law, he had. no 



210 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

doubt, calculated to carry through his term of 
government with ease and splendor, and to en- 
rich himself, his connections, and his favorites ; 
and had hoped that the catastrophe of the system 
would not take place until after the expiration of 
the regency. 

He now saw his mistake, — that it was impos- 
sible much longer to prevent an explosion ; and 
he determined at once to get Law out of the way, 
and then to charge him with the whole tissue of 
delusions of this paper alchemy. He accordingly 
took occasion of the recall of parliament in De- 
cember, 1720, to suggest to Law the policy of 
his avoiding an encounter with that hostile and 
exasperated body. Law needed no urging to the 
measure. His only desire was to escape from 
Paris and its tempestuous populace. Two days 
before the return of parliament, he took his sud- 
den and secret departure. He travelled in a 
chaise bearing the arms of the Regent, and was 
escorted by a kind of safeguard of servants, in 
the duke's livery. His first place of refuge was 
an estate of the Regent's, about six leagues 
from Paris, from whence he pushed forward to 
Bruxelles. 

As soon as Law was fairly out of the way, the 
Duke of Orleans summoned a council of the re- 
gency, and informed them that they were assem- 
bled to deliberate on the state of the finances and 
the affairs of the India Company. Accordingly 
La Houssaye, Comptroller-General, rendered a 
perfectly clear statement, by which it appeared 
that there were bank-bills in circulation to the 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 211 

amount of two milliards seven hundred millions 
of livres, without any evidence that this enor- 
mous sum had been emitted in virtue of any or- 
dinance from the general assembly of the India 
Company, which alone had the right to authorize 
such emissions. 

The council was astonished at this disclosure, 
and looked to the Regent for explanation. Pushed 
to the extreme, the Regent avowed that Law had 
emitted bills to the amount of twelve hundred 
millions beyond what had been fixed by ordi- 
nances, and in contradiction to express prohibi- 
tions ; that, the thing being done, he, the Regent, 
had legalized or rather covered the transaction, 
by decrees ordering such emissions, which decrees 
he had antedated. 

A stormy scene ensued between the Regent 
and the Duke de Bourbon, httle to the credit of 
either, both having been deeply implicated in the 
cabalistic operations of the system. In fact, the 
several members of the council had been among the 
most venal " beneficiaries " of the scheme, and had 
interests at stake which they were anxious to se- 
cure. From all the circumstances of the case, 1 am 
inclined to think that others were more to blame 
than Law for the disastrous effects of his finan- 
cial projects. His bank, had it been confined to 
its original limits, and left to the control of its 
own internal regulations, might have gone on 
prosperously, and been of great benefit to the, 
nation. It was an institution fitted for a free 
country ; but, unfortunately, it was subject to the 
control of a despotic government, that could, at 



212 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

its pleasure, alter the value of the specie within 
its vaults, and compel the most extravngant ex- 
pansions of its paper circulation. The vital prin- 
ciple of a bank is security in the regularity of its 
operations, and the immediate convertibility of 
its paper into coin ; and what confidence could 
be reposed in an institution, or its paper promises, 
when the sovereign could at at any moment cen- 
tuple those promises in the market, and seize 
upon all the money in the bank ? The compul- 
sory measures used, likewise, to Ibrce bank-notes 
into currency, against the judgment of the public, 
was fatal to the system ; for credit must be free 
and uncontrolled as the common air. The Re- 
gent was the evil spirit of the system, that forced 
Law on to an expansion of his paper currency 
far beyond what he had ever dreamed of. He it 
was that in a manner compelled the unlucky pro- 
jector to devise all kinds of collateral companies 
and monopolies, by which to raise funds to meet 
the constantly and enormously increasing emis- 
sions of shares and notes. Law was but like a 
poor conjurer in the hands of a potent spirit that 
he has evoked, and that obliges him to go on, 
desperately and ruinously, with his conjurations. 
He only thought at the outset to raise the wind, 
but the Regent compelled him to raise the whirl- 
wind. 

The investigation of the affairs of the company 
by the council resulted in nothing beneficial to 
the public. The princes and nobles who had 
enriched themselves by all kinds of juggles and 
extortions escaped unpunished, and retained the 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 213 

Grreater part of their spoils. Many of the " sud- 
denly ricli," wlio had risen from obscurity to a 
giddy height of imaginary prosperity, and had 
indulged in all kinds of vulgar and ridiculous 
excesses, awoke as out of a dream, in their 
;)riginal poverty, now made more galling and hu- 
iiiliating by their transient elevation. 

The weight of the evil, however, fell on more 
valuable classes of society, — honest tradesmen and 
artisans, who had been seduced away from the 
slow accumulations of industry, to the specious 
chances of speculation. Thousands of meritorious 
families, also, once opulent, had been reduced to 
indigence by a too great confidence in govern- 
ment. There was a general derangement in the 
finances, that long exerted a baneful influence 
over the national prosperity ; but the most disas- 
trous effects of the system were upon the morals 
and manners of the nation. The faith of engage- 
ments, the sanctity of promises in affairs of busi- 
ness, were at an end. Every expedient to grasp 
present profit, or to evade present difficulty, was 
tolerated. While such deplorable laxity of prin- 
ciple was generated in the busy classes, the 
chivalry of France had soiled their pennons ; and 
honor and glory, so long the idols of the Gallic 
nol)ility, had been tumbled to the earth, and 
trampled in the dirt of the stock-market. 

As to Law, the originator of the system, he 
appears eventually to have profited but little by 
liis schemes. " He was a quack," says Voltaire, 
' to whom the state was given to be cured, but 
who poisoned it with his drugs, and who poisoned 



214 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 

himself." The effects which he left behind in 
France were sold at a low price, and the proceeds 
dissipated. His landed estates were confiscated. 
He carried away with him barely enough to main- 
tain himself, his wife, and daughter, with decency. 
The chief relic of his immense fortune was a 
great diamond, which he was often obliged to 
pawn. He was in England in 1721, and was 
presented to George the First. He returned, 
shortly afterward, to the Continent, shifting about 
from place to place, and died in Venice, in 1729. 
His wife and daughter, accustomed to live with 
the prodigality of princesses, could not conform to 
their altered fortunes, but dissipated the scanty 
means left to them, and sank into abject poverty. 
" I saw his wife," says Voltaire, " at Bruxelles, 
as much humiliated as she had been haughty and 
triumphant at Paris." An elder brother of Law 
remained in France, and was protected by the 
Duchess of Bourbon. His descendants acquitted 
themselves honorably, in various public employ- 
ments ; and one of them was the Marquis Lau- 
riston, sometime Lieutenant - General and Peer 
of France. 




SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825 ; 



FROM THE TRAVELLING NOTE-BOOK OF GEOFFREY 
CRAYON, GENT. 



THE PARISIAN HOTEL. 




'^ GREAT hotel in Paris is a street set 
on end : the grand staircase is the high- 
way, and every floor or apartment a 
separate habitation. The one in which I am 
lodged may serve as a specimen. It is a large 
quadrangular pile, built round a spacious paved 
court. The ground-floor is occupied by shops, 
magazines, and domestic offices. Then comes the 
entresol, with low ceilings, short windows, and 
dwarf chambers ; then succeed a succession of 
floors, or stories, rising one above the other, to 
the number of Mahomet's heavens. Each floor 
is a mansion, complete within itself, with ante- 
chamber, saloons, dining and sleeping rooms, 
kitchen, and other conveniences. Some floors are 
divided into two or more suites of apartments. 
Each apartment has its main door of entrance, 
opening upon the staircase, or landing-places, and 
locked like a street-door. Thus several families 
and numerous single persons live under the same 
roof, totally independent of each other, and may 
live so for years, without holding more inter- 



216 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

course than is kept up in other cities by residents 
in the same street. 

Like the great world, this Httle microcosm has 
its gradations of rank and style and iinpoi-tance. 
The premier, or first floor, with its grand saloons, 
lofty ceilings, and splendid fiirnitui'e, is decidedly 
the aristocratical part of the establishment. The 
second floor is scarcely less aristocratical and mag- 
nificent ; the other floors go on lessening in splen- 
dor as they gain in altitude, and end with the 
attics, the region of petty tailors, clerks, and 
sewing - girls. To make the filling up of the 
mansion complete, every odd nook and corner is 
fitted up as a joU petit appartement a gar£.on, (a 
pretty little bachelor's apartment,) that is to say, 
some little dark inconvenient nestling-place for a 
poor devil of a bachelor. 

The whole domain is shut up from the street 
by a great porte-cochere, or portal, calculated for 
the admission of carriages. This consists of two 
massy folding doors, that swing heavily open upon 
a spacious entrance, passing under the front of the 
edifice into the court-yard. On one side is a grand 
staircase leading to the upper apartments. Im- 
mediately without the portal is the porter's lodge, 
a small room with one or two bedrooms adjacent, 
for the accommodation of the concierge, or porter, 
and his family. This is one of the most important 
functionaries of the hotel. He is, in fact, the 
Cerberus of the establishment, and no one can 
pass in or out without his knowledge and consent. 
The porte-cochere in general is fastened by a slid- 
ing bolt, from which a cord or wire passes into 



THE PARISIAN HOTEL 217 

the porter's lodge. Whoever wishes to go out 
must spenk to the porter, who draws the bolt. A 
visitor from without gives a single rap with the 
massive knocker ; the bolt is immediately di-awn, 
as if by an invisible hand ; the door stands ajar, 
the visitor pushes it open, and enters. A face 
presents itself at the glass door of the porter's 
little chamber; the stranger pronounces the name 
of tlie person he comes to seek. If the person or 
family is of importance, occupying the first or 
second floor, the porter soimds a bell once or 
twice, to give notice that a visitor is at hand. 
The stranojer in the mean time ascends the SJ'eat 
Staircase, the highway common to all, and arrives 
at the outer door, equivalent to a street-door, of 
the suite of rooms inhabited by his friends. Be- 
side this hangs a bell - cord, with which he rings 
for admittance. 

When the family or person inquired for is of 
less importance, or lives in some remote part 
of the mansion less easy to be apprised, no signal 
is given. The applicant pronounces the name at 
the porter's door, and is told, '•^Montez cm troisieme, 
an qu,afrieme ; sonnez a la porte a droite, on a 
gauche" ('-Ascend to the third or fourth story ; 
ring the bell on the right or left hand door,") as 
the case may be. 

The porter and his wife act as domestics to 
such of the inmates of the mansion as do not 
keep servants ; making their beds, arranging tlieir 
rooms, lighting their fires, and doing other menial 
offices, fur which they receive a monthly stipend. 
They are also in confidential intercourse with the 



218 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

servants of the other inmates, and, having an eye 
on all the incomers and outgoers, are thus enabled, 
hy hook and by crook, to learn the secrets and the 
domestic history of every member of the little 
territory within the porte-cochh^e. 

The porter's lodge is accordingly a great scene 
of gossip, where all the private affairs of this in- 
terior neighborhood are discussed. The court- 
yard, also, is an assembling-place in the evening 
for the servants of the different families, and a 
sisterhood of sewing-girls from the entresols and 
the attics, to play at various games, and dance to 
tlie music of their own songs and the echoes of 
their feet ; at which assemblages the porter's 
daughter takes the lead, — fresh, pretty, buxom 
girl, generally called "Xa Petite" though almost 
as tall as a grenadier. These little evening 
gatherings, so characteristic of this gay country,- 
are countenanced by the various families of the 
mansion, who often look down from their windows 
and balconies on moonlight evenings, and enjoy 
the simple revels of their domestics. I must 
observe, however, that the hotel I am describing 
is rather a quiet, retired one, where most of the 
inmates are permanent residents from year to 
year, so that there is more of the spirit of neigh- 
borhood than in the bustling, fashionable hotels in 
the gay parts of Paris, w^hich are continually 
changing their inhabitants. 



MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 219 



Mr FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 

I OFTEN amuse myself by watching from my 
window (which, by the by, is tolerably elevated) 
the movements of the teeming little world below 
me ; and as I am on sociable terms with the porter 
and his wife, I gather from them, as they light my 
tii'e, or serve my breakfast, anecdotes of all my 
fellow-lodgers. I have been somewhat cnrious in 
studying a little antique Frenchman, who occu- 
pies one of the jolies chamhres a gargon ah'eady 
mentioned. He is one of those superannuated 
veterans who flourished before the Revolution, and 
have weatliered all the storms of Paris, in con- 
sequence, very probably, of being fortunately too 
insignificant to attract attention. He has a small 
income, which he manages with the skill of a 
French economist ; appropriating so much for his 
lodgings, so much for his meals, so much for his 
visits to St. Cloud and Versailles, and so much for 
his seat at the theatre. He has resided at the hotel 
for years, and always in the same chamber, which 
lie furnishes at his own expense. The decorations 
of the room mark his various ages. There are 
some gallant pictures, which he hung up in his 
younger days, with a portrait of a lady of rank, 
whom he speaks tenderly of, dressed in the old 
French taste, and a pretty opera-dancer, pirouett- 
ing in a hoop-petticoat, who lately died at a good 
old age. In a corner of this picture is stuck a 
prescription for rlieumatism, and below it stands 
rtn easy-chair. He has a small parrot at the 



220 SK?:TcnES in pa his. 

winrlow, to amuse liira when within doors, and a 
pii^-dofj to accompany him in his daily peregrina- 
tions. While I am writing, he is crossing the 
court to go out. He is attired in his best coat of 
sky-bhie, and is doubtless bound for the Tuileries. 
His hair is dressed in the old style, with powdei'ed 
cai'-locks and a pigtail. His little dog trips after 
him, sometimes on four legs, sometimes on three, 
f.nd looking as if his leather small-clothes were too 
tiglit for him. Now the old gentleman stops to have 
a word with an old crony who lives in the entresol, 
and is just returning from his promenade. Now 
they take a pinch of snuff together ; now they 
]Mdl out huge red cotton handkerchiefs, (those 
'' flags of abomination," as they have well been 
called,) and blow their noses most sonorously. 
Now they turn to make remarks upon their two 
little dogs, who are exchanging the morning^'s sal- 
utation ; now they part, and my old gentleman 
stops to have a passing word with the porter's 
wife ; and now he sallies forth, and is fairly 
launched upon the town for the day. 

No man is so methodical as a complete idler, 
and none so scrupulous in measuring and portion- 
ing out his time as he whose time is worth nothing. 
The old gentleman in question has his exact hour 
for rising, and for shaving himself by a small mir- 
ror hung against his casement. He sallies forth 
at a certain hour every morning, to take his cup 
of coffee and his roll at a certain cafe, where he 
reads the papers. He has been a regular admirer 
of the lady who presides at the bar, and always 
stops to have a little badinage with her, en passant. 



MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 221 

He has his regular walks on the Boulevards and 
in the Palais Royal, where he sets his watch by 
the petard fired off by tlie sun at mid-day. He 
has liis daily resort in the Garden of the Tuileries, 
to meet with a knot of veteran idlers like himself, 
who talk on pretty much the same sul)jects when- 
ever they meet. He has been present at all the 
sights and shows and rejoicings of Paris for the 
last fifty years ; has witnessed the great events of 
the revolution ; the guillotining of the king and 
queen ; the coronation of Bonaparte ; the capture 
of Paris, and the restoration of the Bourbons. All 
these he speaks of with the coolness of a theatri- 
cal critic ; and I question whether he has not been 
gratified by each in its turn ; not from any in- 
herent love of tumult, but from that insatiable 
appetite for spectacle which prevails among the in- 
habitants of this metropolis. I have been amused 
with a farce, in which one of these systematic old 
triflers is represented. He sings a song detailing 
his whole day's round of insignificant occupations, 
and goes to bed delighted with the idea that his 
next day will be an exact repetition of the same 
routine : 

" Je me couche le soir, 

Enchante de pouvoir 

Reconimencer mon train 
Le lendemain 
Matin." 



222 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 

In another part of the hotel, a handsome suite 
of rooms is occupied by an old English gentle- 
man, of great probity, some understanding, and 
very considerable crustiness, who has come to 
France to live economically. He has a very fair 
property, but his wife, being of that blessed kind 
compared in Scripture to the fruitful vine, has 
overwhelmed him with a family of buxom daugh- 
ters, who hang clustering about him, ready to be 
gathered by any hand. He is seldom to be seen 
in public without one hanging on each arm, and 
smiling on all the world, while his own mouth is 
drawn down at each corner like a mastiffs, with 
internal growling at everything about him. He 
adheres rigidly to English fashion in dress, and 
trudo;es about in lono- o;aiters and broad-brimmed 
hat ; while his daughters almost overshadow him 
with feathers, flowei's, and French bonnets. 

He contrives to keep up an atmosphere of Eng- 
lish habits, opinions, and prejudices, and to carry 
a semblance of London into the very heart of 
Paris. His mornings are spent at Galignani's 
news-room, where he forms one of a knot of in- 
veterate quidnuncs, who read the same articles 
over a dozen times in a dozen different papers. 
He generally dines in company with some of his 
own countrymen, and they have what is called a 
'' comfortable sitting " after dinner, in the English 
fashion, drinking wine, discussing the news of 
the London papers, and canvassing the French 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARTS. 223 

character, the French metropolis, and the French 
revohition, ending with a unanimous admission of 
English courage, English morality, English cook- 
ery, English wealth, the magnitude of London, 
and the ingratitude of the French. 

His evenings are chiefly spent at a club of his 
countrymen, where the London papers are taken. 
Sometimes his daughters entice him to the thea- 
tres, but not often. He abuses French tragedy, 
as all fustian and bombast, Talma as a ranter, and 
Duchesnois as a mere termagant. It is true his 
ear is not sufficiently familiar with the language 
to understand French verse, and he generally 
goes to sleep during the performance. The wit 
of the French comedy is flat and pointless to him. 
He would not g\\Q one of Munden's wry faces, or 
Liston's inexpressible looks, for the whole of it. 

He will not admit that Paris has any advantage 
over London. The Seine is a muddy rivulet in 
comparison with the Thames ; the West End of 
London surpasses the finest parts of the French 
capital ; and on some one's observing that there 
was a very thick fog out of doors, " Pish ! " said 
he, crustily, " it 's nothing to the fogs we have in 
London ! " 

He has infinite trouble in bringing his table 
i:ito anything like conformity to English rule. 
With his liquors, it is true, he is tolerably suc- 
cessful. He procures London porter and a stock 
of port and sherry, at considerable expense, for he 
observes that he caimot stand those cui-sed tin'n 
French wines ; they dilute his blood so much as 
to give him the rheumatism. As to their white 



22 t SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

wines, he stigmatizes them as mere substitutes for 
cider ; and as to claret, why " it would be port if 
it could." He has continual quarrels with his 
French cook, whom he renders wretched by in- 
sisthig on his conforming to Mrs. Glasse ; for it is 
easier to convert a Frenchman from his religion 
than his cookery. The 'poor fellow, by dint of 
repeated efforts, once brought himself to serve up 
ros bif sufficiently raw to suit what he considered 
the cannibal taste of his master ; but then he 
could not refi'ain, at the last moment, adding some 
exquisite sauce, that put the old gentleman in a 
fury. 

He detests wood-fires, and has procured a quan- 
tity of coal ; but not having a grate, he is obliged 
to burn it on the hearth. Here he sits poking 
and stirring the fire with one end of a tongs, while 
the room is as murky as a smithy ; railing at 
French chimneys, French masons, and French 
architects ; giving a poke at the end of every 
sentence, as though he were stirring up the very 
bowels of the delinquents he is anathematizing. 
He lives in a state militant with inanimate objects 
around him ; gets into high dudgeon with doors 
and casements because they will not come under 
English law, and has implacable feuds with sun- 
dry refractory pieces of furniture. Among these 
is one in particular with which he is sure to have 
a high quarrel every time he goes to dress. It is 
a commode^ one of those smooth, polished, plausi- 
ble pieces of French furniture that have the per- 
versity of five hundred devils. Each drawer has 
a will of its own ; will open or not, just as the 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 225 

whim takes it, and sets lock and key at defiance. 
Sometimes a drawer will refuse to yield to either 
persuasion or force, and will part with both han- 
dles rather than yield ; another will come out in 
the most coy and coquettish manner imaginable, 
elbowing along, zigzag, one corner retreating as 
the other advances, making a thousand difficulties 
and objections at every move, until the old gen- 
tleman, out of all patience, gives a sudden jerk, 
and brings drawer and contents into the middle 
of the floor. His hostility to this unlucky piece 
of furniture increases every day, as if incensed 
that it does not grow better. He is like the fret- 
ful invalid, who cursed his bed, that the longer he 
lay the harder it grew. The only benefit he has 
derived from the quarrel is, that it has furnished 
him with a crusty joke, which he utters on all 
oc(!asions. He swears that a French commode is 
the most incommodious thing in existence, and 
that although the nation cannot make a joint-stool 
that will stand steady, yet they are always talking 
of everything's being perfectionee. 

His servants understand his humor, and avail 
themselves of it. He was one day disturbed by 
a pertinacious rattling and shaking at one of the 
doors, and bawled out in an angry tone to know 
the cause of the disturbance. " Sir," said the 
footman, testily, " it 's this confounded French 
lock ! " " Ah ! " said the old gentleman, pacified 
by this hit at the nation, " I thought there was 
something French at the bottom of it 1 " 
15 



226 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 

As I am a mere looker-on in Europe, and hold 
myself as much as possible aloof from its quarrels 
and prejudices, I feel something like one over- 
looking a game, who, without any great skill of 
his own, can occasionally perceive the blunders 
of much abler players. This neutrality of feel- 
ing enables me to enjoy the contrasts of character 
presented in this time of general peace, when 
the various people of Europe, who have so long 
been sundered by wars, are brought together and 
placed side by side in this great gathering-place 
of nations. No greater contrast, however, is ex- 
hibited than that of the French and Encjlish. 
The peace has deluged this gay capital with Eng- 
lish visitors of all ranks and conditions. They 
throng every place of curiosity and amusement ; 
fill the pid>lic gardens, the galleries, the cafes, 
saloons, theati-es ; always herding together, never 
associating with the P^'rench. The two nations 
are like two threads of different colors, tangled 
together, but never blended. 

In fact, they present a continual antithesis, and 
seem to value themselves upon being unlike each 
other ; yet each have their peculiar merits, which 
should entitle them to each other's esteem. The 
French intellect is quick and active. It flashes 
its way into a subject with the rapidity of light- 
ni]ig, seizes upon -emote conclusions with a sud- 
den bound, and its deductions are almost intuitive. 
The English intellect is less rapid, but more per- 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 227 

severing ; less sudden, but more sure in its deduc- 
tions. The quickness and mobility of the French 
enable them to find enjoyment in the multiplicity 
of sensations. They speak and act more from 
immediate impressions than from reflection and 
meditation. They are tiierefore more social and 
communicative, more fond of society and of places 
of public resort and amusement. An English- 
man is more reflective in his habits. He lives in 
the world of his own thoughts, and seems more 
self-existent and self-dependent. He loves the 
quiet of his own apartment ; even when abroad, 
he in a manner makes a little solitude around 
him by his silence and reserve ; he moves about 
shy and solitary, and as it were, buttoned up, .body 
and soul. 

The French are great optimists ; they seize 
upon every good as it flies, and revel in the pass- 
ing pleasure. The Englishman is too apt to 
neglect the present good in preparing against the 
possible evil. However adversities may lower, 
let the sun sliine but for a moment, and forth 
sallies the mercurial Frenchman, in holiday dress 
and holiday spirits, gay as a butterfly, as though 
his sunsiiine were perpetual ; but let the sun 
beam never so brightly, so there be but a cloud in 
the horizon, the wary Englishman ventures forth 
distrustfully, with his umbrella in his hand. 

The Frenchman has a wonderful facility at 
luining small things to advantage. No one can 
b',; gay and luxurious on smaller means ; no one 
requires less expense to be happy. He practises 
a kind of gilding in his style of living, and ham- 



228 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

mers out every guinea into gold-leaf. The Eng- 
lishman, on the contrary, is expensive in liis hab- 
its and expensive in his enjoyments. He values 
everything, whether useful or ornamental, by 
wliat it costs. He has no satisfaction in show, 
unless it be solid and complete. Eveiything goes 
with him by the square foot. Whatever display 
he makes, the depth is sure to equal the surface. 

The Frenchman's habitation, like himself, is 
open, cheerful, bustling, and noisy. He lives in 
a part of a great hotel, with wide portal, paved 
court, a spacious dirty stone staircase, and a fam- 
ily on every floor. All is clatter and chatter. 
He is good-humored and talkative with his ser- 
vants, sociable with his neighbors, and complai- 
sant to all the world. Anybody has access to 
himself and his apartments ; his very bedroom is 
open to visitors, whatever may be its state of con- 
fusion ; and all this not from any peculiarly hos- 
pitable feeling, but from that communicative habit 
which predominates over his cliaracter. 

The Englishman, on the contrary, ensconces 
himself in a snug brick mansion, which he has 
all to himself ; locks the front-door ; puts broken 
bottles along his walls, and spring-guns and man- 
traps in his gardens ; shrouds himself with trees 
and window-curtains ; exults in his quiet and 
privacy, and seems disposed to keep out noise, 
daylight, and company. His house, like himself, 
has a reserved, iniiospitable exterior ; yet who- 
ever gains admittance is apt to find a warm heart 
and warm fireside within. 

The French excel in wit, the English in hu- 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 220 

mor ; the French have gayer fancy, the English 
richer imaginations. The former are full of sen- 
sibility, easily moved, and prone to sudden and 
great excitement ; but their excitement is not 
durable ; the English are more phlegmatic, not 
so readily affected, but capable of being aroused 
to great enthusiasm. The faults of these oppo- 
site temperaments are, that the vivacity of the 
French is apt to sparkle up and be frothy, the 
gravity of the English to settle down and grow 
muddy. When the two characters can be fixed 
in a medium, the French kept from effervescence 
and the English from stagnation, both will be 
found excellent. 

This contrast of character may also be noticed 
in tlie great concerns of the two nations. The 
ardent Frenchman is all for military renown : he 
fights for glory, that is to say, for success in ai-ms. 
For, provided the national flag be victorious, he 
cares little about the expense, the injustice, or 
the inutility of the war. It is wonderful how the 
poorest Frenchman will revel on a triumphant bul- 
letin ; a great victory is meat and drink to him ; 
and at the sight of a military sovereign, bringing 
home captured cannon and captured standards, 
he throws up his greasy cap in the air, and is 
ready to jump out of his wooden shoes for joy. 

John Bull, on the contrary, is a reasoning, con- 
siderate person. If he does wrong, it is in the 
most rational way imaginable. He tights because 
the good of the world requires it. He is a moral 
person, and makes war upon his neighbor for the 
maintenance of peace and good order, and sound 



230 SKETCHES IN PARTS. 

principles. He is a money-making personage, 
and fights for the prosperity of commerce and 
manufactures. Thus the two nations have been 
fighting, time out of mind, for glory and good 
Tiie French, in pursuit of glory, have had their 
capital twice taken ; and John, in pursuit of good 
has run himself over head and ears in debt. 



THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 

I HAVE sometimes fancied I could discover na- 
tional characteristics in national edifices. In the 
Chateau of the Tuileries, for instance, I perceive 
the same jumble of contrarieties that marks the 
French character ; the same whimsical mixture 
of the great and the little, the splendid and the 
paltry, the sublime and the grotesque. On visit- 
ing this famous pile, the first thing that strikes 
both eye and ear is military display. The courts 
glitter with steel-clad soldiery, and resound with 
tramp of horse, the roll of drum, and the bray of 
trumpet. Dismounted guardsmen patrol its ar- 
cades, with loaded carbines, jingling spurs, and 
clanking sabres. Gigantic grenadiers are posted 
about its staircases ; young officers of the guards 
loll from the balconies, or lounge in groups upon 
the terraces ; and the gleam of bayonet from win- 
dow to window shows that sentinels are pacing 
up and down the corridors and antechambers. 
The first floor is brilliant with the splendors of a 
court. French taste has tasked itself in adorning 



THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 281 

the sumptuous suites of apartments ; nor are the 
irilded chapel and spleudid theatre forgotten, where 
Piety and Pleasure are next-door neighbors, and 
harmonize together with perfect French bienseance. 

Mingled up with all this regal and military 
magnificence is a world of whimsical and make- 
shift detail. A great part of the huge edifice is 
cut up into little chambers and nestling-places for 
retainers of the court, dependants on retainers, 
and hangers-on of dependants. Some are squeezed 
into narrow entresols, those low, dark, interme- 
diate slices of apartments between floors, the in- 
habitants of which seem shoved in edgewise, 
like books between narrow shelves ; others are 
perched, like swallows, under the eaves ; the high 
roofs, too, which are as tall and steep as a French 
cocked hat, have rows of little dormer-windows, 
tier above tier, just large enough to admit light 
and air for some dormitory, and to enable its oc- 
cupant to peep out at the sky. Even to the vary 
ridge of the roof may be seen, here and there, 
one of these air-holes, with a stove-pipe beside it, 
to carry off the smoke from the handful of fuel 
with which its weasen-faced tenant simmers his 
demi-tasse of coffee. 

On approaching the palace from the Pont Ro- 
yal, you take in at a glance all the various strata 
of inhabitants : the garreteer in the roof, the re- 
tainer in the entresol, the courtiers at the case- 
ments of the royal apartments ; while on the 
ground-floor a steam of savory odors, and a score 
or two of cooks, in white caps, bobbing their heads 
about the windows, betray that scientific and all- 
important laboratory, the royal kitchen. 



232 SKKTCTIES IN PARIS. 

Go into tlie grand antechamber of the royal 
apartments on Sunday, and see the mixture of 
Old and New France : the old emigres, returned 
with the Bourbons ; little, withered, spindle- 
shanked old noblemen, clad in court-dresses, that 
figured in these saloons before the revolution, and 
liave been carefully treasured up during their ex- 
ile ; with the solitaires and ailes de pigeon of for- 
mer days, and the court - swords strutting out 
behind, like pins stuck through dry beetles. See 
them haunting the scenes of their former splen- 
dor, in hopes of a restitution of estates, like ghosts 
haunting the vicinity of buried treasure ; while 
around them you see Young France, grown up 
in the fighting school of Napoleon, equipped en 
militaire : tall, hardy, frank, vigorous, sunburnt, 
fierce-whiskered ; with tramping boots, towering 
crests, and glittering breastplates. 

It is incredible the number of ancient and he- 
reditary feeders on royalty said to be housed in 
this establishment. Indeed, all the royal palaces 
abound with noble families returned from exile, 
and who have nestling-places allotted them while 
tliey await the restoration of their estates, or the 
much-talked-of law, indemnity. Some of them 
have fine quarters, but poor living. Some fami- 
lies have but five or six hundred francs a year, 
and all their retinue consists of a servant-woman. 
With all this, they maintain their old aristocrati- 
cal hauteur, look down with vast contempt upon 
tlie opulent fimilies which have risen since the 
revolution ; stigmatize them all as parvenus, or 
upstarts, and refuse to visit them. 



THE TUILERJES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 235 

In resrardino: the exterior of the Tuileries, with 
all its outward signs of internal popiilousness, I 
have often thouoht wliat a rare sijiht it would be 
to see it suddenly unroofed, and all its nooks and 
corners laid open to the day. It would be like 
tui-ning up the stump of an old tree, and dis- 
lodging the world of grubs and ants and beetles 
lodged beneath. Indeed, there is a scandalous 
anecdote current, that, in the time of one of the 
petty plots, when petards were exploded under 
the windows of the Tuileries, the police made a 
sudden investigation of the palace at four o'clock 
in the morning, when a scene of the most whim- 
sical confusion ensued. Hosts of supernumerary 
inhabitants were found foisted into the huge edi- 
fice : Q\e.ry rat-hole had its occupant ; and places 
which had been considered as tenanted only by 
spiders, were found crowded with a surreptitious 
population. It is added, that many ludicrous ac- 
cidents occurred ; great scampering and slamming 
of doors, and whisking away in niglit-gowns and 
slippers ; and several persons, who were found by 
accident in their neighbors' chambers, evinced in- 
dubitable astonishment at the circumstance. 

As I have fancied I could read the French 
character in the national palace of the Tuileries, 
so I have pictured to myself some of the traits of 
John Bull in his royal abode of Windsor Castle. 
The Tuileries, outwardly a peaceful palace, is in 
effect a swaggering military hold ; while the old 
castle, on the contrary, hi spite of its bullying 
look, is completely under petticoat government. 
Every corner and nook is built up into some 



234 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

snug, cosy nestling-place, some " procreant cra- 
dle," not tenanted by meagre expectants or whis- 
kered warriors, but by sleek placemen ; knowing 
realizers of present pay and present pudding ; 
who seem placed there not to kill and destroy, 
but to breed and multiply. Nurseiy-maids and 
children shine with rosy faces at the windows, 
and swarm about the courts and terraces. The 
very soldiery have a pacific look, and, wdien off 
duty, may be seen loitering about the place with 
the nursery -maids ; not making love to them in 
the gay gallant style of the French soldiery, but 
with infinite bonhommie aiding them to take care 
of the broods of children. 

Though the old castle is in decay, everything 
about it thrives ; the very crevices of the walls 
are tenanted by swallows, rooks, and pigeons, all 
sure of quiet lodgment ; the ivy strikes its roots 
deep in the fissures, and flourishes about the 
mouldering tower.* Thus it is with honest John : 
according to his own account, he is ever going to 
ruin, yet everything that lives on him thrives 
and waxes fat. He would fain be a soldier, and 
swagger like his neighbors ; but his domestic, 
quiet-loving, uxorious nature continually gets the 
upper iiand ; and though he may mount his helmet 
and gird on his sword, yet he is apt to sink 
into the plodding, painstaking father of a family, 
with a troop of children at his heels, and his 
womenkind hanging on each arm. 

* The above sketch Avas written before the thorough repairs 
and magnificent additions made of late years to Windsor Cas- 
tle. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 235 



THR FIELD OF WATERLOO. 

I HAVE spoken heretofore with some levity of 
the contrast that exists between the English and 
French character ; but it deserves more serious 
consideration. They are the two great nations 
of modern times most diametrically opposed, and 
most worthy of each other's rivalry ; essentially 
distinct in their characters, excelling in opposite 
qualities, and reflecting lustre on each other by 
their very opposition. In nothing is this contrast 
more strikingly evinced than in their military con- 
duct. For ages have they been contending, and 
for ages have they crowded each other's history 
with acts of splendid heroism. Take the Battle 
(jf Waterloo, for instance, the last and most mem- 
orable trial of their rival prowess. Nothing could 
surpass the brilliant daring on the one side, and 
the steadfast endurina; on the other. The French 
cavalry broke like waves on the compact squares 
of English infantry. They were seen galloping 
round tliose serried walls of men, seeking in vain 
for an entrance ; tossing their arms in the air, in 
the heat of their enthusiasm, and braving the 
whole front of battle. The British troops, on the 
other hand, forbidden to move or fire, stood firm 
and enduring. Their columns were ripped up by 
cannon ry ; whole rows were swept down at a 
shot ; the survivors closed their ranks, and stood 
firm. In this way many columns stood through 
the pelting of the iron tempest without firing a 
^ihot, without any action to stir their blood or ex- 



23 G SKirrcHEs in Paris. 

cite their spii-its. Death tliinned their ranks, but 
could not shake their souls. 

A beautiful instance of the quick and generous 
impulses to which the French are prone is givt-n 
in tiie case of a French cavalier, in the hottest of 
tlie action, charging furiously upon a British officer, 
but, perceiving in the moment of assault that liis 
adversary had lost his sword-arm, dropping the 
point of his sabre, and courteously riding on. 
Peace be with that generous warrior, whatever 
were his fate ! If he went down in the storm of 
battle, with the foundering fortunes of his chieftain, 
may the turf of Waterloo grow green above his 
gi-ave ! — and happier far would be the fate of 
such a spirit to sink amidst the tempest, uncon- 
scious of defeat, than to survive and mourn over 
the blighted laurels of his country. 

In this way the two armies fought through a 
long and bloody day, — the French with enthusi- 
astic valor, the English with cool, inflexible cour- 
age, until Fate, as if to leave the question of 
superiority still undecided between two such ad- 
versaries, brought up the Prussians to decide the 
fortunes of the field. 

It was several years afterward that I visited 
the field of Waterloo. The ploughshare had been 
busy with its oblivious labors, and the frequent 
harvest had nearly obliterated the vestiges of war. 
Still the blackened ruins of Hoguemont stood, a 
monumental pile to mark the violence of this 
vehement struggle. Its broken walls, pierced by 
bullets and shattered by explosions, showed the 
deadly strife that had taken place within, when 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. g;^7 

Gaul and Briton, hemmed in between narrow 
walls, hand to hand and foot to foot, fought from 
garden to court-yard, from court-yard to chamber, 
with intense and concentrated rivalship. Columns 
of smoke towered from this vortex of battle as 
from a volcano : " it was," said my guide, " like a 
little hell upon earth." Not far off, two or three 
broad spots of rank, unwholesome green still 
marked the places where these rival warriors, 
after their fierce and fitful struggle, slept quietly 
together in the lap of their common mother earth. 
Over all the rest of the field peace had resumed 
its sway. The thoughtless whistle of the peasant 
floated on the air instead of the trumpet's clangor; 
the team slowly labored up the hill-side once 
shaken by the hoofs of rushing squadrons ; and 
wide fields of corn waved peacefully over the 
soldiers' grave, as summer seas dimple over the 
place where the tall ship lies buried. 

To the foregoing desultory notes on the French 
military character, let me append a few traits 
whicli I picked up verbally in one of the French 
provinces. They may have already appeared in 
print, but I have never met wit*h them. 

At the breaking out of the revolution, when so 
many of the old families emigrated, a descendant 
of the great Turenne, by the name of De Latour 
D'Auvergne, refused to accompany his relations, 
and entered into the republican army. He served 
in all the campaigns of the revolution, distin- 
guished himself by his valor, his accomplishments, 
and his generous spirit, and might have risen to 



238 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

fortune and to the highest honors. He refused, 
however, all rank in the army above that of 
captain, and would receive no recompense for liis 
achievements but a sword of honor. Napoleon, 
in testimony of his merits, gave him the title of 
Premier Grenadier de France., (First Grenadier 
of France,) which was the only title he would 
ever bear. He was killed in Germany at the 
battle of Neuburg. To honor his memory, his 
place was always retained in his regiment as if 
he still occupied it ; and whenever the regiment 
was mustered, and the name of De Latour 
D'Auvergne was called out, the reply was : 
" Dead on the field of honor ! " 



PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 

Paris presented a singular aspect just after 
the downfall of Napoleon and the restoration of 
the Bourbons. It was filled with a restless, roam- 
ing population, — a dark, sallow race, with fierce 
moustaches, black cravats, and feverish, menacing 
looks, — men suddenly thrown out of employ by 
the return of peace ; oflScers cut short in their 
career, and cast loose with scanty means, many 
of them in utter indigence, upon the world ; the 
broken elements of armies. They haunted the 
places of public resort, like restless, unhappy 
spirits, taking no pleasure ; hanging about like 
lowering clouds that linger after a storm, and 



PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 239 

giving a singular air of gloom to this otherwise 
gay metropolis. 

The vaunted courtesy of the old school, the 
smooth urbanity that prevailed in former days 
of setthnl government and long-established aris- 
tocracy, had disappeared amidst the savage repub- 
licanism of the revolution and the military furor 
of the empire ; recent reverses had stung the 
national vanity to the quick, and English travel- 
lers, who crowded to Paris on the return of peace, 
expecting to meet with a gay, good-humored, 
complaisant popidace, such as existed in the time 
of the '' Sentimental Journey," were surprised at 
finding them irritable and fractious, (juick at 
fancying affronts, and not unapt to offer insults. 
They accordingly inveighed with heat and bitter- 
ness at the rudeness they experienced in the 
French metropolis ; yet what better had they to 
expect? Had Charles 11. been reinstated in his 
kingdom by the valor of French troops ; had he 
been wheeled triumphantly to London over the 
trampled bodies and trampled standards of Eng- 
land's bravest sods ; had a French general dic- 
tated to the English capital, aud a French army 
been quartered in Hyde Park ; had Paris poured 
forth its motley population, and the wealthy hour- 
geoisie of every French trading town swarmed to 
London, crowding its squares, filling its streets 
with theii- equipages, thronging its fashionable 
hotels and places of amusements, elbowing its im- 
poverished nobility out of their palaces and opera- 
boxes, and looking down on the humiliated in- 
habitants as a conquered people ; in such ii re 



240 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

verse of the case, what degree of courtesy would 
the populace of London have been apt to exer- 
cise toward theh' visitors ? * 

On the contrai-y, I have always admired the 
degree of magnanimity exhibited by tlie French 
on the occupation of tlieir capital by the English. 
When we consider the military ambition of this 
nation, its love of glory, the splendid height to 
which its renown in arms had recently been car- 
ried, and, with these, the tremendous reverses it 
had just undergone, its armies shattered, annihi- 
lated, its capital captured, garrisoned, and overrun, 
and that too by its ancient rival, the Englisli, 
toward whom it had cherished for centuries a 
jealous and almost religious hostility, could we 
have wondered if tlie tiger-spirit of this fiery 
people had broken out in bloody feuds and deadly 
quarrels, and that they had sought to rid them- 
selves in any way of their invaders ? But it is 
cowardly nations only, those who dare not wield 
the sword, that revenge themselves with the lurk- 
ing dagger. There were no assassinations in 
Paris. The French had fought valiantly, desper- 
ately, in the field ; but, when valor was no longer 
of avail, they submitted, like gallant men, to a fate 
they could not withstand. Some instances of in- 
sult from the populace were experienced by their 
English visitors ; some personal rencontres which 
led to duels did take place ; but these smacked of 

* The above remarks were suggested by a conversation 
with the late Mr. Canning, whom the author met in Paris, 
and who expressed himself in the most liberal way concern- 
ing the magnanimity of the French on the occupation of their 
capital by strangers. 



PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 241 

open and honorable hostility. No instances of 
lurking and perfidious revenge occurred ; and the 
British soldier patrolled the streets of Paris safe 
from treacherous assault. 

If the English met with harshness and repulse 
in social intercourse, it was in some degree a proof 
that the people are more sincere than has been rep- 
resented. The emigrants who had just returned 
were not yet reinstated. Society was constituted 
of those who had flourished under the late regime, 
— the newly ennobled, the recently enriched, who 
felt their prosperity and their consequence en- 
dangered by this change of things. The broken- 
down officer, who saw his glory tarnished, his 
fortune ruined, his occupation gone, could not be 
expected to look with complacency upon the 
authors of his downfall. The English visitor, 
flushed with health and wealth and victory, could 
little enter into the feelings of the blighted war- 
rior, scarred with a hundred battles, an exile from 
the camp, broken in constitution by the wars, im- 
poverished by tlie peace, and cast back, a needy 
stranger in the splendid but captured metropolis 
of his country. 

" Oh ! who can tell what heroes feel 
When all but life and honor's lost! " 

And here let me notice the conduct of the 
French soldiery on the dismemberment of the 
army of the Loire, when two hundred thousand 
men were suddenly thrown out of employ ; — men 
who had been brought up to the camp, and scarce 
knew any other home. Few in civil, peaceful 
life are aware of the severe trial to the feelings 



242 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

that takes place on the dissolution of a regiment. 
There is a fraternity in arms. The community 
of dangers, hardships, enjoyments ; the participa- 
tion in battles and victories ; the companionship 
in adventures, at a time of life when men's feel- 
ings are most fresh, susceptible, and ardent ; all 
these bind the members of a regiment strongly to- 
gether. To them the regiment is friends, family, 
home. They identify themselves with its fortunes, 
its glories, its disgraces. Imagine this romantic 
tie suddenly dissolved ; the regiment broken up ; 
the occupation of its members gone ; their mili- 
tary pride mortified ; the career of glory closed 
behind them ; that of obscurity, dependence, want, 
neglect, perhaps beggary, before them. Such was 
the case with the soldiers of the army of the 
Loire. They wei-e sent off in squads, with offi- 
cers, to the principal towns, where they were to 
be disarmed and discharged. In this way they 
passed through the country with arms in their 
hands, often exposed to slights and scoffs, to hun- 
ger and various hardships and privations ; but 
they conducted themselves magnanimously, with- 
out any of those outbreaks of violence and wrong 
that so often attend the dismemberment of armies. 

The few years that have elapsed since the time 
HDove alluded to have already had their effect. 
The proud and angry spirits which then roamed 
about Paris unemployed have cooled down and 
fovuid occupation. The national character begins 
to recover its old channels, though worn deeper 
by recent torrents. The natural urbanity of the 



PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 243 

French begins to find its way, like oil, to the sur- 
face, though there still remains a degree of rough- 
ness and bluntness of manner, partly real, and 
partly affected, by such as imagine it to indicate 
force and frankness. The events of the last thirty 
years have rendered the French a more reflecting 
people. Tiiey have acquired greater indepen- 
dence of mind and strength of judgment, together 
with a portion of that prudence which results 
from experiencing the dangerous consequences of 
excesses. However that period may have been 
stained by crimes and filled with extravagances, 
the French have certainly come out of it a greater 
nation than before. One of their own philosophers 
observes, that in one or two generations the na- 
tion will probably combine the ease and elegance 
of the old character with force and solidity. They 
were light, he says, before the revolution ; then 
wild and savage ; they have become more thought- 
ful and reflective. It is only old Frenchmen, now- 
adays, that are gay and trivial ; the young are 
very serious personages. 

P. S. — In the course of a morning's walk, about 
the time the above remarks were written, I ob- 
served the Duke of Wellington, who was on a 
brief visit to Paris. He was alone, simply attired 
in a blue frock, with an umbrella under his arm 
and his hat drawn over his eyes, and sauntering 
across the Place Yendome, close by the colunm 
of Napoleon. He gave a glance up at the col- 
umn as he passed, and continued his loitering way 
up the Rue de la Paix ; stopping occasionally to 



244 SKETCHES JN PARIS. 

gaze in at the shop-windows ; elbowed now and 
then by other gazers, who little suspected that the 
quiet, lounging individual they were jostling so 
unceremoniously was the conqueror who had twice 
entered their capital victoriously, had controlled 
the destinies of the nation, and eclipsed the glory 
of the military idol at the base of whose column 
he was thus negligently sauntering. 

Some years afterwards I was at an evening's 
entertainment given by the Duke at Apsley House, 
to William IV. The Duke had manifested his 
admiration of his great adversary by having por- 
traits of him in different parts of the house. At 
the bottom of the grand staircase stood the colos- 
sal statue of the Emperor, by Canova. It was 
of marble, in the antique style, with one arm 
partly extended, holding a figure of victory. Over 
this arm the ladies, in tripping up-stairs to the 
ball, had thrown their shawls. It was a singular 
office for the statue of Napoleon to perform in the 
mansion of the Duke of Wellington ! 

" Imperial Caesar dead, and turned to clay," etc., etc. 




A CONTENTED MAN. 




N the garden of the Tiiileries there is a 
snnny corner under the wall of a terrace 
which fronts the south. Along the wall 
is a range of benches commanding a view of the 
walks and avenues of the garden. This genial 
nook is a place of great resort in the latter part 
of autumn, and in fine days in winter, as it seems 
to retain the flavor of departed summer. On a 
calm, bright morning, it is quite alive with nurs- 
ery-maids and their playful little charges. Hither 
also resort a number of ancient ladies and gentle- 
men, who, with laudable thrift in small pleasures 
and small expenses, for which the French are to 
be noted, come here to enjoy sunshine and save 
firewood. Here may often be seen some cavalier of 
the old school, when the sunbeams have warmed 
his blood into something like a glow, fluttering 
about like a frost-bitten moth thawed before the 
fire, putting forth a feeble show of gallantry among 
the antiquated dames, and now and then eyeing 
the buxon nursery-maids with what might almost 
be mistaken for an air of libertinism. 

Among the habitual frequenters of this place 
I had often remarked an old gentleman whose 



246 A CONTENTED MAN. 

dress was decidedly anti-re volutional. He wore 
the three-cornered cocked hat of the ancien re- 
gime ; his hair was frizzed over each ear into 
ailes de pigeon, a style strongly savoring of Bour- 
bonism ; and a queue stuck out behind, the loy- 
alty of which was not to be disputed. His dress, 
though ancient, had an air of decayed gentility, 
and I observed that he took his snuff out of an 
elegant though old-fashioned gold box. He ap- 
peared to be the most popidar man on the walk. 
He had a compliment for every old lady, he kissed 
every child, and he patted every little dog on the 
head ; for children and little dogs are very im- 
portant members of society in France. I must 
observe, however, that he seldom kissed a child 
without, at the same time, pinching the nursery- 
maid's cheek ; a Frenchman of the old school 
never forgets his devoirs to the sex. 

I had taken a liking to this old gentleman. 
There was an habitual expression of benevolence 
in his face, which I have very frequently remarked 
in these relics of the politer days of France. The 
constant interchange of those thousand little cour- 
tesies which imperceptibly sv/eeten life, has a 
happy elFect upon the features, and spreads a mel- 
low evening charm over the wrinkles of old age. 

Where there is a favorable predisposition, one 
soon forms a kind of tacit intimacy by often meet- 
ing on the same walks. Once or twice I accom- 
modated him with a bench, after which we touched 
hats on passing each other ; at length we got so 
far as to take a pinch of snuff together out of his 
box, which is equivalent to eating salt together 



A CONTENTED MAN. 247 

iji the East ; from that time our acquaintance was 
established. 

I now became his frequent companion in his 
morning promenades, and derived much amuse- 
ment from his good-humored remarks on men and 
manners. One morning, as we were strolling 
through an alley of the Tuileries, with the au- 
tumnal breeze whirling the yellow leaves about 
our path, my companion fell into a peculiarly 
communicative vein, and gave me several particu- 
lars of his history. He had once been wealthy, 
and possessed of a fine estate in the country and 
a noble hotel in Paris ; but the revolution, which 
effected so many disastrous changes, stripped him 
of everything. He was secretly denounced by 
his own steward during a sanguinary period of 
the revolution, and a number of the bloodhounds 
of the Convention were sent to arrest him. He 
received private intelligence of their approach in 
time to effect his escape. He landed in England 
without money or friends, but considered himself 
singularly fortunate in having his head upon his 
slioulders, several of his neighbors having been 
guillotined as a punishment for being rich. 

When he reached London he had but a louis 
in his pocket, and no prospect of getting another. 
He ate a solitary dinner on beefsteak, and was 
almost poisoned by port wine, which from its 
color he had mistaken for claret. The dingy 
look of the chop-house, and of the little ma- 
liogany-colored box in which he ate his dinner, 
contrasted sadly with the gay saloons of Paris. 
Everything looked gloomy and disheartening. 



248 A CONTENTED MAN. 

Poverty stared him in the face ; he turned over 
the few shilUnors he had of chancre ; did not know 
what was to become of him; and — went to the 
theatre ! 

He took his seat in the pit, listened attentively 
to a tragedy of which he did not understand a 
word, and which seemed made up of fighting, and 
stabbinuj, and scene-shiftinof, and began to feel his 
spirits sinking within him ; when, casting his eyes 
into the orchestra, what was his surprise to recog- 
nize an old friend and neighbor in the very act of 
extorting music from a huge violoncello. 

As soon as the evening's performance was over 
he tapped his friend on the shoulder ; they kissed 
each other on each cheek, and the musician took 
him home, and shared his lodgings with him. 
He had learned music as an accomplishment ; by 
his friend's advice he now turned to it as a means 
of support. He procured a violin, offered him- 
self for the orchestra, was received, and again 
considered himself one of the most fortunate men 
upon earth. 

Here, therefore, he lived for many years during 
the ascendency of the terrible Napoleon. He 
found several emigrants living like himself, by 
the exercise of their talents. They associated 
together, talked of France and of old times, and 
endeavored to keep up a semblance of Parisian 
life in the centre of London. 

They dined at a miserable cheap French res- 
taurateur in the neighboi'hood of Leicester Square, 
where they were served with a caricature of 
French cookery. They took their promenade in 



A CONTENTED MAN. 249 

St. James's Purk, and endeavored to fancy it the 
Tuileries ; in sliort, they made shift to accommo- 
date themselves to everything but an Enghsh 
Sunday. Indeed, the old gentleman seemed to 
have nothing to say against the English, whom 
he affirmed to be braves gens ; and he mingled 
so much among them, that at the end of twenty 
years he could speak their language almost well 
enough to be understood. 

The downfall of Napoleon was another epoch 
in his life. He had considered himself a fortu- 
nate man to make his escape penniless out of 
France, and he considered himself fortunate to 
be able to return penniless into it. It is true 
that he found his Parisian hotel had passed 
through several hands during the vicissitudes of 
the times, so as to be beyond the reach of re- 
covery ; but then he had been noticed benignantly 
by government, and had a pension of several hun- 
dred francs, upon which, with careful manage- 
ment, he lived independently, and, as far as I 
could judge, happily. 

As his once splendid hotel was now occupied 
as a hotel garni, he hired a small chamber in the 
attic ; it was but, as he said, changing his bed- 
room up two pair of stairs, — he was still in his 
own house. His room was decorated with pic- 
tures of several beauties of former times, with 
whom he professed to have been on favorable 
terms ; among them was a favorite opera-dancer, 
who had been the admiration of Paris at the 
breaking out of the revolution. She had been a 
frotegee of my friend, and one of the few of his 



250 A CONTENTED MAN. 

youtliful fkvorltes who hud survived the lapse of 
time and its various vicissitudes. Tliey had re- 
newed their acquaintance, and she now and then 
visited hiui ; hut the beautiful Psyclie, once the 
fashion of the day and the idol of the parterre, 
was now a shi-ivelled, little old woman, warped 
in the back, and with a hooked nose. 

The old gentleman was a devout attendant 
upon levees ; he was most zealous in his loyalty, 
and could not speak of the royal family without 
a burst of enthusiasm, for he still felt towards 
them as his companions in exile. As to his 
poverty he made light of it-, and indeed had" a 
good-humored way of consoling himself for every 
cross and privation. If he had lost his chateau 
in the country, he had half a dozen royal palaces, 
as it were, at his command. He had Versailles 
and St. Cloud for his country resorts, and the 
shady alleys of the Tuileries and the Luxem- 
bourg for his town recreation. Thus all his 
promenades and relaxations were magnificent, yet 
cost nothing. When I walk through these fine 
gardens, said he, I have only to fancy myself the 
owner of them, and they are mine. All these 
gay crowds are my visitors, and I defy the grand 
seignior himself to display a greater variety of 
beauty. Nay, what is better, I have not the 
trouble of entertaining them. My estate is a 
perfect Sans Souci, where every one does as he 
pleases, and no one troubles the owner. All 
Paris is my theatre, and presents me with a con- 
tinual spectacle. I have a table spread for me in 
every street, and thousands of waiters ready to 



A CONTENTED MAN. 251 

flv at my bidding. "When my servants have 
waited upon me I pay them, discharge them, and 
there 's an end ; I have no fears of their wrong- 
ing or pilfering me when my back is turned. 
Upon the whole, said the old gentleman, with a 
smile of intinite good-humor, when I think upon 
the various risks I have run, and the manner in 
which I have escaped them, when I recollect all 
that T have suffered, and consider all that I at 
present enjoy, I cannot but look upon myself as a 
man of singular good fortune. 

Such was the brief history of this practical 
philosophei', and it is a picture of many a French 
man ruined by the revolution. The French ap 
])ear to liave a greater facility than most men in 
accommodating themselves to the reverses of life, 
and of extracting honey out of the bitter things 
of this world. The first shock of calamity is apt 
to overwhelm them ; but when it is once past, 
their natural buoyancy of feeling soon brings 
them to the surface. This may be called the 
result of levity of character, but it answers the 
end of reconciling us to misfortune, and if it be 
not true philosophy, it is something almost as 
efficacious. Ever since I have heard the story 
of my little Frenchman, I have treasured it up 
in my heart ; and I thank my stars I have at 
length found, what I had long considered as not 
to be found on earth ; — a contented man. 

P. S. — There is no calculating on human hap- 
piness. Since writing the foregoing, the law of 
indemnity has been passed, and my friend restored 



252 A CONTENTED MAN. 

to a great part of his fortune. I was absent 
from Paris at tlie time, but on my return hast- 
ened to cx)ngratulate him. I found him magnifi 
cently lodged on the first floor of his hotel. 1 
was ushered, by a servant in livery, through 
splendid saloons, to a cabinet richly furnished, 
where I found my little Frenchman reclining on 
a couch. He received me with his usual cor- 
diality ; but I saw the gayety and benevolence 
of his countenance had fled ; he had an eye full 
of care and anxiety. 

1 congratulated him on his good fortune. 
" Good fortune ? " echoed he ; " bah ! I have 
been plundered of a princely fortune, and they 
give me a pittance as an indemnity." 

Alas ! I found my late poor and contented 
friend one of the richest and most miserable men 
in Paris. Instead of rejoicing in the ample com- 
petency restored to him, he is daily repining at 
the superfluity withheld. He no longer wanders 
in happy idleness about Paris, but is a repining 
attendant in the antechambers of ministers. His 
loyalty has evaporated with his gayety ; he screws 
his mouth when the Bourbons are mentioned, and 
even shrugs his shoulders when he hears the 
praises of the king. In a word, he is one of the 
many philosophers undone by the law of in- 
demnity ; and his case is desperate, for I doubt 
whether even another reverse of fortune, which 
should restore him to poverty, could make him 
again a happy man. 







BROEK : 



THB DUTCH PARADISE. 




.jT has long been a matter of discussion 
and controversy among the pious and 
the learned, as to the situation of the 
terrestrial paradise whence our first parents were 
exiled. This question has been put to rest by- 
certain of the faithful in Holland, who have de- 
cided in favor of the village of Broek, about 
six miles from Amsterdam. It may not, they 
observe, correspond in all respects to the descrip- 
tion of the garden of Eden, handed down from 
days of yore, but it comes nearer to their ideas 
of a perfect paradise than any other place on 
earth. 

This eulogium induced me to make some in- 
quiries as to this favored spot, in the course of a 
sojourn at the city of Amsterdam ; and the in- 
formation I procured fully justified the enthu- 
siastic praises I had heard. The village of 
Broek is situated in Waterland, in the midst 
of the greenest and richest pastures of Holland, 
I may say, of Europe. These pastures are the 
source of its wealth ; for it is famous for its dai- 
ries, and for those oval cheeses which regale and 
perfume the whole civilized world. The popula- 



254 BROEK- OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

tion consists of about six hundred persons, com- 
prising several families which have inhabited the 
place since time immemorial, and have waxed 
rich on the products of their meadows. They 
keep all their wealth among themselves, inter- 
marrying, and keeping all strangers at a wary 
distance. They are a " hard money " people, 
and remarkable for turning the penny the right 
way. It is said to have been an old rule, estab- 
lished by one of the primitive financiers and 
legislators of Broek, that no one should leave 
the village with more than six guilders in his 
pocket, or return with less than ten ; a shrewd 
regulation, well worthy the attention of modern 
political economists, who are so anxious to fix the 
bahince of trade. 

What, however, renders Broek so perfect an 
elysium in the eyes of all true Hollanders is the 
matchless height to which the spirit of cleanliness 
is carried there. It amounts almost to a religion 
among the inhabitants, who pass the greater part 
of their time rubbing and scrubbing, and paint- 
ins and varnishing ; each housewife vies with her 
neighbor in her devotion to the scrubbing-brush, 
as zealous Catholics do in their devotion to the 
cross ; and it is said, a notable housewife of the 
place in days of yore is held in pious remembrance, 
and almost canonized as a saint, for having died 
of pure exhaustion and chagrin, in an ineffectual 
attempt to scour a black man white. 

These particulars awakened my ardent curiosity 
to see a place which I pictured to myself the very 
fountain - head of certain hereditary habits and 



BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 255 

customs prevalent among the descendants of the 
original Dutch settlers of my native State. I 
accordingly lost no time in performing a pilgrim- 
age to Broek. 

Before I reached the place, I beheld symptoms 
of the tranqnil character of its inhabitants. A 
little clump-built boat was in full sail along the 
lazy bosom of a canal, but its sail consisted of the 
blades of two paddles stood on end, while the 
navigator sat steering with a third paddle in the 
stern, crouched down like a toad, with a slouched 
hat drawn over his eyes. I presumed him to be 
some nautical lover, on the way to his mistress. 
After proceeding a little farther, I came in sight 
of the harbor or poi't of destination of this drowsy 
navigator. This was the Broeken-Meer, an arti- 
ficial basin, or sheet of olive-green water, tranquil 
as a mill-pond. On this the village of Broek is 
situated, and the borders are laboriously decorated 
with flower-beds, box-trees clipped into all kinds 
of ingenious shapes and fancies, and little " lust " 
houses or pavilions. 

I alighted outside of the village, for no horse 
nor vehicle is permitted to enter its precincts, lest 
it should cause defilement of the well-scoured 
pavements. Shaking the dust off my feet, there- 
fore, I prepared to enter, with due reverence and 
circumspection, this sanctum sanctorum of Dutch 
cleanliness. I entered by a narrow street, paved 
with yellow bricks, laid edgewise, and so clean 
that one might €at from them. Indeed, they 
were actually worn deep, not by the tread of feet, 
but by the friction of the scrubbing-brush. 



256 BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

The houses were built of wood, and all ap- 
peared to have been freshly painted, of green, 
yellow, and other bright colors. They were sep* 
arated from each other by gardens and orchards, 
and stood at some little distance from the street, 
with wide areas or court-yards, paved in mosaic, 
with variegated stones, polished by frequent rub- 
bing. The areas were divided from the street by 
curiously wrought railings, or balustrades, of iron, 
surmounted with brass and copper balls, scoured 
into dazzlino- effuliz:ence. The very trunks of the 
trees in front of the houses were by the same 
process made to look as if they had been var- 
nished. The porches, doors, and window-frames 
of the houses were of exotic woods, curiously | 
carved, and polished like costly furniture. The . 
front-doors are never opened, excepting on chris- ' 
tenings, marriages, or funerals; on all ordinary 
occasions, visitors enter by the back-door. In 
former times, persons when admitted had to put ,i 
on slippers, but this oriental ceremony is no longer 
insisted upon. 

A poor-devil Frenchman, who attended upon 
me as cicerone, boasted with some degree of 
exultation of a triumph of his countrymen over 
the stern regulations of the place. During the I 
time that Holland was overrun by the armies 
of the French republic, a French general, sur- i 
rounded by his whole etat major, who had come 
from Amsterdam to view the wonders of Broek, 
applied for admission at one of these tabooed 
portals. The reply was, that the owner never 
received any one who did not come introduced by 



BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 257 

some friend. "Very well," said the general, " take 
my compliments to your master, and tell him I 
will return here to-morrow with a company of 
soldiers, pour 'parler raison avec mon ami Hol- 
landaisJ' Terrified at the idea of having a com- 
pany of soldiers billeted upon him, the owner 
threw open his house, entertained the general and 
his retinue with unwonted hospitality, though it 
is said it cost the family a month's scrubbing and 
scourine: to restore all thing^s to exact order after 
this military invasion. My vagabond informant 
seemed to consider this one of the greatest victo- 
ries of the republic. 

I walked about the place in mute wonder and 
admiration. A dead stillness prevailed around, 
like that in the deserted streets of Pompeii. No 
sign of life was to be seen, excepting now and 
then a hand, and a long pipe, and an occasional 
puff of smoke, out of the window of some " lust- 
haus " overhanging a miniature canal ; and on 
approaching a little nearer, the periphery in pro- 
file of some robustious burgher. 

Among the grand houses pointed out to me 
were those of Claes Bakker and Cornelius Bak- 
ker, richly carved and gilded, with flower-gardens 
and clipped shrubberies ; and that of the Great 
Ditmus, who, my poor-devil cicerone informed 
me in a whisper, was worth two millions ; all 
these were mansions shut up from the world, and 
only kept to be cleaned. After having been con- 
ducted from one wonder to another of the village, 
I was ushered by my guide into the grounds and 
gardens of Mynheer Broekker, another mighty 
17 



258 BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

cheese-manufacturer, worth eighty thousand guild- 
ers a year. I had repeatedly been struck with 
the similarity of all that I had seen in this am- 
phibious little village to the buildings and land- 
scapes on Chinese platters and teapots ; but here 
I found the similarity complete, for I was tokl 
that these gardens were modelled upon Van 
Bramm's description of those of Yuen min Yuen, 
in Cliina. Here were serpentine walks, with trel- 
lised borders ; winding canals, with fanciful Chinese 
bridges ; flower - beds resembling huge baskets, 
with the flower of " love lies bleeding " falling 
over to the ground. But mostly had the fancy 
of Mynheer Broekker been displayed about a 
stagnant little lake, on which a corpulent-like 
pinnace lay at anchor. On the border was a 
cottage, within which were a wooden man fuid 
woman seated at table, and a wooden dog beneath, 
all the size of life ; on pressing a spring, the 
woman commenced spinning and the dog barked 
furiously. On the lake were wooden swans, 
painted to the life ; some floating, others on the 
nest among the rushes ; while a wooden sportsman, 
crouched among the bushes, was preparing his 
gun to take deadly aim. In another part of the 
garden was a dominie in his clerical robes, with 
wig, pipe, and cocked hat ; and mandarins with 
nodding heads, amid red lions, green tigers, and 
blue hares. Last of all, the heathen deities, in 
wood and plaster, male and female, naked and 
barefaced as usual, and seeming to stare with 
wonder at finding themselves in such strange 
company. 



BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 259 

INIy shabby French guide, while he pointed out 
all these mechanical marvels of the garden, was 
anxious to let me see that he had too polite a 
taste to be pleased by them. At every new nick- 
nack he would screw down his mouth, shrug up 
his shoulders, take a pinch of snufF, and exclaim : 
'"''Ma foi, Monsieur, ces HoUandais sont forts j)Our 
ces bHises-la I " 

To attempt to gain admission to any of these 
stately abodes was out of the question, having no 
company of soldiers to enforce a solicitation. I 
was fortunate enough, however, through the aid 
of my guide, to make my way into the kitchen of 
the illustrious Ditmus, and I question whether the 
parlor would have proved more worthy of obser- 
vation. The cook, a little wiry, hook-nosed 
woman, worn thin by incessant action and fric- 
tion, wjis bustling about among her kettles and 
saucepans, with the scullion at her heels, both 
clattering in wooden shoes, which were as clean 
and white as the milk-pails ; rows of vessels, of 
brass and copper, regiments of pewter dishes and 
portly porringers, gave resplendent evidence of the 
intensity of their cleanliness ; the very trammels 
and hangers in the fireplace were highly scoured, 
and the burnished ftice of the good Saint Nicholas 
shone forth from the iron plate of the chimney- 
back. 

Among the decorations of the kitchen was a 
printed sheet of wood-cuts, representing the vari- 
ous holiday customs of Holland, with explanatory 
rhymes. Here I was delighted to recognize the 
jollities of New- Year's day, the festivities of 



2 GO BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

Paas and Pinkster, and all the other merrymak- 
ings handed down in my native place from the 
earliest times of New Amsterdam, and which had 
been such bright spots in the year in my child- 
hood. I eagerly made myself master of this 
precious document for a trifling consideration, and 
bore it off as a memento of the place ; though I 
question if, in so doing, I did not carry off with 
me the whole current literature of Bi'oek. 

I must not omit to mention that this village is 
the paradise of cows as well as men ; indeed, you 
would almost suppose the cow to be as much an 
object of worship here, as the bull was among the 
ancient Egyptians ; and well does she merit it, for 
she is in fact the patroness of the place. The same 
scrupulous cleanliness, however, which pervades 
everything else, is manifested in the treatment of 
this venerated animal. She is not permitted to 
perambulate the place ; but in winter, when she 
forsakes the rich pasture, a well-built house is 
provided for her, well painted, and maintained in 
the most perfect order. Her stall is of ample di- 
mensions ; the floor is scrubbed and polished ; her 
hide is daily curried and brushed and sponged to 
her heart's content, and her tail is daintily tucked 
up to the ceiling, and decorated with a ribbon ! 

On my way back through the village, I passed 
the house of the prediger^ or preacher ; a veiy com- 
fortable mansion, which led me to augur well of 
the state of religion in the village. On inquiry, I 
was told that for a long time the inhabitants lived 
in a great state of indifference as to religious mat- 
ters ; it was in vain that their preachers en- 



BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 201 

deavored to arouse their thoughts as to a future 
state ; the joys of heaven, as commonly depicted, 
were but little to their taste. At length a dom- 
inie appeared among them who struck out in a 
different vein. He depicted the New Jerusalem 
as a place all smooth and level, with beautiful 
dykes and ditches and canals, and houses all shin- 
ing with paint and varnish and glazed tiles, and 
where there should never come horse, nor ass, nor 
cat, nor dog, nor anything that could make noise 
or dirt ; but there should be nothing but rubbing 
and scrubbing, and washing and painting, and 
gilding and varnishing, for ever and ever, amen ! 
Since that time the good housewives of Broek 
have all turned their faces Zionward. 






GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 

FOUND AMONG THE KNICKERBOCKER PAPERS AT WOLFERT'S 
ROOST. 

IIOEVER has visited the ancient and 
renowned village of Communipaw may 
have noticed an old stone building, of 
most ruinous and sinister appearance. The doors 
and window-shutters are ready to drop from their 
hinges ; old clothes are stuffed in the broken panes 
of glass, while legions of half-starved dogs prowl 
about the premises, and rush out and bark at every 
passer-by, for your beggarly house in a village is 
most apt to swarm with profligate and ill-condi- 
tioned dogs. What adds to the sinister appearance 
of this mansion is a tall frame in front, not a little 
resembling a gallows, and which looks as if waiting 
to accommodate some of the inhabitants with a 
w^ell-merited airing. It is not a gallows, however, 
but an ancient sign-post ; for this dwelling in the 
golden days of Communipaw was one of the most 
orderly and peaceful of village taverns, where pub- 
lic affairs were talked and smoked over. In fact, 
it was in this very building that Olotfe the Dreamer 
and his companions concerted that great voyage 
of discovery and colonization in which they ex- 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 263 

jilored Buttermilk Channel, were nearly ship- 
wrecked in the strait of Hell Gate, and finally 
landed on the island of Manhattan, and founded 
the great city of New Amsterdam. 

Even after the province had been cruelly 
wrested from the sway of their High Mightinesses 
hy the combined forces of the British and the 
Yankees, this tavern continued its ancient loyalty. 
It is true, the head of the Prince of Orange disap- 
peared from the sign, a strange bird being painted 
over it, with the explanatory legend of " Die 
Wilde Gans," or. The Wild Goose ; but this all 
the world knew to be a sly riddle of the landlord, 
the worthy Tennis Van Gieson, a knowing man, in 
a small way, who laid his finger beside his nose and 
winked, when any one studied the signification of 
his sign, and observed that his goose was hatch- 
ing, but would join the flock whenever they flew 
over the water ; an enigma which was the per- 
petual recreation and delight of the loyal but fat- 
headed burghers of Communipaw. 

Under the sway of this patriotic, though dis- 
creet and quiet publican, the tavern continued to 
flourish in primeval tranquillity, and was the resort 
of true-hearted Nederlanders, from all parts of 
Pavonia ; who met here quietly and secretly, to 
smoke and drink the downfall of Briton and Yan- 
kee, and success to Admiral Van Tromp. 

The only drawback on the comfort of the es- 
tablishment was a nephew of mine host, a sister's 
son, Yan Yost Vanderscamp by name, and a real 
scamp by nature. This unlucky whipster showed 
an early propensity to mischief, which he gratified 



264 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

in a small way by playing tricks upon ilie fre- 
quenters of the Wild Goose, — patting gunpowder 
in their pipes, or squibs in their pockets, and as- 
tonishing tiiem with an explosion, while they sat 
nodding around the fireplace in the bar-room ; and 
if perchance a worthy burgher from some distant 
part of Pavonia lingered until dark over his pota- 
tion, it was odds but young Vanderscamp would 
slip a brier under his horse's tail, as he mounted, 
and send him clattering along the road, in neck- 
or-nothing style, to the infinite astonishment and 
discomfiture of the rider. 

It may be wondered at, that mine host of the 
Wild Goose did not turn such a graceless varlet 
out of doors ; but Teunis Van Gieson was an 
easy-tempered man, and, having no child of his 
own, looked upon his nephew with almost pa- 
rental indulgence. His patience and good nature 
were doomed to be tried by another inmate of his 
mansion. This was a cross-grained curmudgeon 
of a negro, named Pluto, who was a kind of enig- 
ma in Communipavv. Where he came from, no- 
body knew. He was found one morning, after 
a storm, cast like a sea-monster on the strand, in 
front of the Wild Goose, and lay there, more dead 
than alive. The neighbors gathei'ed round, and 
speculated on this production of the deep ; whetlier 
it were fish or flesh, or a compound of both, com- 
monly yclept a merman. The kind-hearted Teu- 
nis Van Gieson, seeing that he wore the human 
form, took him into his house, and warmed hira 
into life. By degrees, he showed signs of intelli- 
gence, and even uttered sounds very much like. Ian- 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 205 

guage, but which no one in Coramiinipaw could 
understand. Some thought him a negro just from 
Guinea, who had either fallen overboard, or es- 
caped from a slave-ship. Nothing, however, could 
ever draw from him any account of his origin. 
When questioned on tlie subject, he merely pointed 
to Gibbet Island, a small rocky islet which lies 
in the open bay, just opposite Communipaw, as 
if that were his native place, though everybody 
knew it had never been inhabited. 

In the process of time, he acquired something 
of the Dutch language ; that is to say, he learnt 
all its vocabulary of oaths and maledictions, with 
just words sufficient to string them together. 
" Bonder en blicJcsem. ! " (thunder and lightning) 
was the gentlest of his ejaculations. For years 
he kept about the Wild Goose, more like one of 
those familiar spirits, or household goblins, we read 
of, tlian like a human being. He acknowledged 
allegiance to no one, but performed various domes- 
tic offices, when it suited his humor ; waiting oc- 
casionally on the guests, grooming the horses, cut- 
ting wood, drawing water ; and all this without 
being ordered. Lay any command on him, and 
the stubborn sea-urchin was sure to rebel. He 
was never so much at home, however, as when on 
the water, plying about in skiff or canoe, entirely 
alone, fisliing, crabbing, or grabbing for oysters, 
and would bring home quantities for the larder of 
the Wild Goose, which he would throw down at 
the kitchen - door, with a growl. No vvind nor 
weather detei'red him from launching forth on his 
favorite element : indeed, the wilder the weather, 



2 GO GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

the more lie seemed to enjoy it. If a storm was 
brewing, he was sure to put off I'rom shore ; and 
would be seen f'nr out in the bay, his light skiff 
dancing like a feather on the waves, when sea and 
sky were in a turmoil, and the stoutest ships were 
fain to lower their sails. Sometimes on such oc- 
casions he would be absent for days together. 
How he weathered the tempest, and how and 
where he subsisted, no one could divine, nor did 
any one venture to ask, for all had an almost su- 
perstitious awe of him. Some of the Communi- 
paw oystermen declared they had more tlian once 
seen him suddenly disappear, canoe and all, as if 
plunged beneath the waves, and after a while come 
up again, in quite a different part of the bay ; 
whence they concluded that he could live under 
water like that notable species of wild duck com- 
monly called the hell-diver. All began to con- 
sider him in the light of a foul-weather bird, like 
the Mother Carey's chicken, or stormy petrel ; and 
whenever they saw him putting far out in his skiff, 
in cloudy weather, made up their minds for a storm. 
The only being for whom he seemed to have 
any liking was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and him 
he liked for his very wickedness. He in a man- 
ner took the boy under his tutelage, prompted him 
to all kinds of mischief, aided him in every wild 
liarum-scarum freak, until the lad became the com- 
plete scapegrace of the village, a pest to his uncle 
and to every one else. Nor were his pranks con- 
hned to the land ; he soon learned to accompany 
old Pluto on the water. Together these worthies 
would cruise about the broad bay, and all the 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 207 

neighboring straits and rivers ; poking around in 
skiffs and canoes ; robbing the set nets of the fish- 
ermen ; landing on remote coasts, and laying waste 
oi'chards and water-melon patches ; in short, car- 
rying on a complete system of piracy, on a small 
scale. Piloted by Pluto, the youthful Vander- 
scamp soon became acquainted with all the bays, 
rivers, creeks, and inlets of the watery world around 
him ; could navigate from the Hook to Spiting 
Devil on the darkest night, and learned to set even 
tiie terrors of Hell Gate at defiance. 

At length negro and boy suddenly disappeared, 
and days and weeks elapsed, but without tidings 
of them. Some said they must have run away 
and gone to sea ; others jocosely hinted that old 
Pluto, being no other than his namesake in dis- 
guise, had spirited away the boy to the nether re- 
gions. All, however, agreed in one thing, that the 
village was well rid of them. 

In the process of time, the good Teunis Van 
Gieson slept with his fathers, and the tavern 
remained shut up, waiting for a claimant, for the 
next heir was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and he 
had not been heard of for years. At length, one 
day, a boat was seen pulling for shore, from a 
long, black, rakish-looking schooner, that lay at 
anchor in the bay. The boat's crew seemed wor- 
liiy of the craft from which they debarked. Never 
had such a set of noisy, roistering, swaggering 
varlets landed in peaceful Communipaw. They 
were outlandish in garb and demeanor, and were 
headed by a rough, burly, bully ruffian, with fiery 
whiskers, a copper nose, a scar across his face, 



268 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

and a great Flaiinderish beaver slouched on one 
side of his head, in whom, to their dismay, the 
quiet inhabitants were made to recognize their 
early pest, Yan Yost Vanderscamp. The rear 
of this hopeful gang was brought up by old Pluto, 
who had lost an eye, grown grizzly-headed, and 
looked more like a devil than ever. Vander- 
scamp renewed his acquaintance with the old 
burghers, much against their will, and in a man- 
ner not at all to their taste. He slapped them 
familiarly on the back, gave them an iron grip of 
the hand, and was hail-fellow-well-met. Ac- 
cording to his own account, he had been all the 
world over, had made money by bags full, had 
ships in every sea, and now meant to turn the 
Wild Goose into a country-seat, where he and 
his comrades, all rich merchants from foreign 
parts, might enjoy themselves in the interval of 
their voyages. 

Sure enough, in a little while there was a com- 
plete metamorphose of the Wild Goose. From 
being a quiet, peaceful Dutch public house, it be- 
came a most riotous, uproarious private dwelling ; 
a complete rendezvous for boisterous men of the 
seas, who came here to have what they called a 
" blow-out " on dry land, and might be seen at 
all hours, lounging about the door, or lolling out 
of the windows, swearing among themselves, and 
cracking rough jokes on every passer-by. The 
house was fitted up, too, in so strange a manner : 
hammocks slung to the walls, instead of bedsteads; 
odd kinds of furniture, of foreign fashion ; bam- 
boo couches, Spanish chairs ; pistols, cutlasses, 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 2G9 

and blunderbusses, suspended on every peg ; sil 
ver crucifixes on tlie mantel-pieces, silver candle- 
sticks and porringers on the tables, contrasting 
oddly with the pewter and Delf ware of the 
original establishment. And then the strange 
amusements of these sea-monsters ! Pitching 
Spanish dollars, instead of quoits ; firing blunder- 
busses out of the window ; shooting at a mark, or 
at any unhappy dog, or cat, or pig, or barn-door 
fowl, that might happen to come within reach. 

The only being who seemed to relish their 
rough waggery Avas old Pluto ; and yet he led 
but a dog's life of it, for they practised all kinds 
of manual jokes upon him, kicked him about like 
a foot-ball, shook him by his grizzly mop of wool, 
and never spoke to him without coupling a curse, 
by w^ay of adjective, to his name, and consigning, 
him to the infernal regions. The old fellow, 
however, seemed to like them the better the more 
they cursed him, though his utmost expression of 
pleasure never amounted to more than the growl 
of a petted bear, wdien his ears are rubbed. 

Old Pluto w^as the ministering spirit at the 
oi-gies of the Wild Goose ; and such orgies as 
took place there ! Such drinking, singing, whoop- 
ing, swearing ; with an occasional interlude of 
quarrelling and fighting. The noisier grew the 
revel, the more old Pluto plied the potations, 
until the guests would become frantic in their 
merriment, smashing everything to pieces, and 
Ihi'owing the house out of the windows. Some- 
times, after a drinking bout, they sallied forth and 
scoured the village, to the dismay of the worthy 



270 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

burghers, who gathered their women within doors, 
and would have shut up the house. Vanderscamp, 
however, was not to be rebuffed. He insisted on 
renewing acquaintance with his old neighbors, and 
on introducing his friends, the merchants, to their 
families ; swore he VN^as on the lookout for a wife, 
and meant, before he stopped, to find husbands 
for all their daughters. So, will-ye, nill-ye, socia- 
ble he was ; swaggered about their best parlors, 
with his hat on one side of his head ; sat on the 
good-wife's nicely waxed mahogany table, kicking 
his. heels against the carved and polished legs ; 
kissed and tousled the young vrows ; and, if 
they frowned and pouted, gave them a gold 
rosary, or a sparkling cross, to put them in good- 
humor again. 

Sometimes nothing would satisfy him. but he 
must have some of his old neighbors to dinner at 
the Wild Goose. There was no refusing him, 
for he had the complete upper hand of the com- 
munity, and the peaceful burghers all stood in 
awe of liim. But what a time would the quiet, 
worthy men have, among these rake-hells, who 
would delight to astound them with the most ex- 
travagant gunpowder tales, embroidered with all 
kinds of foreign oaths, clink the can with them, 
pledge them in deep potations, bawl drinking- 
songs in their ears, and occasionally fire pistols 
over their heads, or under the table, and then 
laugh in their faces, and ask them how they liked 
the smell of gunpowder. 

Thus was the little village of Communipaw 
for a time like the unfortunate wight possessed 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 271 

with devils ; until Vanderscamp and his brother- 
merchants would sail on another trading voyage, 
when the Wild Goose would be shut up, and 
everytliing relapse into quiet, only to be disturbed 
by his next visitation. 

The mystery of all these proceedings gradually 
dawned upon the tardy intellects of Communipaw. 
These were the times of the notorious Captain 
Kidd, when the American harbors were the resorts 
of piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, under 
pretext of mercantile voyages, scoured the West 
Indies, made plundering descents upon the Span- 
ish Main, visited even the remote Indian Seas, 
and then came to dispose of their booty, have 
their revels, and fit out new expeditions in the 
English colonies. 

Vanderscamp had served in this hopeful school, 
and, having risen to importance among the buc- 
caneers, had pitched upon his native village and 
early home, as a quiet, out-of-the-way, unsuspected 
place, where he and his comrades, while anchored 
at New York, might have their feasts, and concert 
their plans, without molestation. 

At length the attention of the British govern- 
ment was called to these piratical enterprises, that 
were becoming so frequent and outrageous. Vig- 
orous measures were taken to check and punish 
them. Several of the most noted freebooters 
were caught and executed, and three of Vander- 
scamp's chosen comrades, the most riotous swash- 
buckUirs of the Wild Goose, were hanged in 
cliains on Gibbet Island, in full sight of their 
favorite resort. As to Vanderscamp himself, he 



272 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

and his man Pluto again disappeared, and it was 
hoped by the people of Communipaw that he had 
fallen in some foreign brawl, or been swung on 
some foreign gallows. 

For a time, therefore, the tranquillity of the 
village was restored ; the worthy Dutchmen once 
more smoked their pipes in peace, eyeing with 
peculiar complacency their old pests and terrors, 
the pirates, dangling and drying in the sun, on 
Gibbet Island. 

This perfect calm was doomed at length to be 
ruffled. The fiery persecution of the pirates grad- 
ually subsided. Justice was satisfied with the ex- 
amples that had been made, and there was no 
more talk of Kidd, and the other heroes of like 
kidney. On a calm summer evening, a boat, 
somewhat heavily laden, was seen pulling into 
Communipaw. What was the surprise and dis- 
quiet of the inhabitants to see Yan Yost Vander- 
scamp seated at the helm, and his man Pluto 
tugging at the oar ! Vanderscamp, however, was 
apparently an altered man. Pie brought home 
with him a wife, who seemed to be a shrew, and 
to have the upper hand of him. He no longer 
was the swaggering, bully ruffian, but affected the 
regular merchant, and talked of retiring from 
business, and settling down quietly, to pass the 
rest of his days in his native place. 

The Wild Goose mansion was again opened, 
but with diminished splendor, and no riot. It is 
true, Vanderscamp had frequent nautical visitors, 
and the sound of revelry was occasionally over- 
heard in his house ; but everything seemed to be 



GUESrS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 273 

done under the rose, and old Pluto was the only 
servant that officiated at these orgies. The visit- 
ors, indeed, were by no means of the turbulent 
stamp of their predecessors ; but quiet, mysterious 
traders, full of nods, and winks, and hieroglyphic 
signs, with whom, to use their cant phrase, " every- 
thing was smug." Their ships came to anchor at 
night, in the lower bay ; and, on a private signal, 
Vanderscamp would launch his boat, and accom- 
panied solely by his man Pluto, would make them 
mysterious visits. Sometimes boats pulled in at 
night, in front of tlie Wild Goose, and various 
articles of mercliandise were landed in the dark, 
and spirited away, nobody knew whither. One 
of the more curious of the inhabitants kept watch, 
and caught a glimpse of the features of some of 
these night visitors, by the casual glance of a lan- 
tern, and declared that he recognized more than 
one of the freebooting frequenters of tlie Wild 
Goose, in former times ; whence he concluded 
that Vanderscamp was at his old game, and that 
this mysterious merchandise was nothing more nor 
less than piratical plunder. The more charitable 
opinion, however, was, that Vanderscamp and 
his comrades, having been driven from their old 
line of business by the "oppressions of govern- 
ment," had rewSorted to smuggling to make both 
ends meet. 

Be that as it may, I come now to the extraor- 
dinary fact which is the butt-end of this story. It 
ha[)pened, late one night, that Yan Yost Vander- 
scamp was returning across the broad bay, in his 
light skiff, rowed by his man Pluto. He had 

18 



274 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

been carousing on board of a vessel, newly ar- 
rived, and was somewhat obfuscated in intellect, 
by the liquor he had imbibed. It was a still, 
sultry night ; a heavy mass of lurid clouds was 
risinoj in the west, with the low mutterino; of dis- 
tant thunder. Vanderscamp called on Pluto to 
pull lustily, that they might get home before the 
gathering storm. The old negro made no reply, 
but shaped his course so as to skirt tlie rocky 
shores of Gibbet Island. A faint creaking over- 
head caused Vanderscamp to cast up his eyes, 
when, to his horror, he beheld the bodies of his 
three pot companions and brothers in iniquity 
dangling in the moonlight, their rags fluttering, 
and their chains creaking, as they were slowly 
swung backward and forward Jjy the rising breeze. 

" What do you mean, you blockhead ! " cried 
Vanderscamp, " by pulling so close to the island ? " 

"I thought you 'd be glad to see your old 
friends once more," growled the negro ; " you 
were never afraid of a living man, what do you 
fear from the dead ? " 

" Who 's afraid ? " hiccoughed Vanderscamp, 
partly heated by liquor, partly nettled by the 
jeer of the negro ; " who 's afraid ? Hang me, 
but I would be glad to see them once more, alive 
or dead, at the Wild Goose. Come, my lads in 
the wind I " continued he, taking a draught, and 
flourishing the bottle above his head, " here 's 
fair weather to you in the other world ; and if 
you should be walking the rounds to-night, odds 
fish ! but I '11 be happy if you will drop in to 
supper." 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 275 

A dij^mal creaking was the only reply. The 
wind blew loud and shrill, and as it whistled 
round the sfallows, and amono- the bones, sounded 
as if they were laughing and gibbering in the 
air. Old Pluto chuckled to himself, and now 
pulled for home. The storm burst over the voy- 
agers, while they were yet far from shore. The 
rain fell in torrents, the thunder crashed and 
pealed, and the lightning kept up an incessant 
blaze. It was stark midnight before they landed 
at Communipaw. 

Dripping and shivering, Yanderscamp crawled 
home\vard. He was completely sobered by the 
stoi-m, the water soaked from without having 
diluted and cooled the liquor within. Arrived 
at the Wild Goose, he knocked timidly and du- 
biously at the door ; for he dreaded tiie reception 
he was to experience from his wife. He had 
reason to do so. She met him at the threshold, 
in a precious ill-humor. 

" Is tliis a time," said she, " to keep people out 
of their beds, and to bring home company, to 
turn the house upside down ? " 

" Company ? " said Vanderscamp, meekly ; " I 
have brought no company with me, wife." 

" No, indeed ! they have got here before you, 
but by your invitation ; and blessed-looking com- 
pany they are, truly ! " 

Vanderscamp's knees smote together. " For 
the love of heaven, where are they, wife ? " 

'•Where? — why in the blue room, up-stairs, 
making themselves as nmch at home as if the 
house were their own." 



276 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

Vunderscamp made a desperate effort, scram 
bled up to the room, and threw open the door 
Sure enough, there at a table, on which burned a 
light as blue as brimstone, sat the three guests 
from Gibbet Island, with halters round their necks, 
and bobbing their cups together, as if they were 
hob-or-nobbing, and trolling the old Dutch free- 
booter's glee, since translated into English : — 

" For three merr}^ lads be we, 
And three merry lads be we ; 
I on the land, and thou on the sand, 
And Jack on the gallows-tree." 

Vanderscamp saw and heard no more. Start- 
ing back with horror, he missed his footing on the 
landing-place, and fell fi'om the top of the stairs 
to the bottom. He was taken up speechless, and, 
either from the fall or the fright, was buried in 
the yard of the little Dutch church at Bergen, on 
the following Sunday. 

From that day forward the ftite of the Wild 
Goose was sealed. It was pronounced a haunted 
house, and avoided accordingly. No one inhab- 
ited it but Vanderscamp's shrew of a widow and 
old Pluto, and they were considered but little 
better than its hobgoblin visitors. Pluto grew 
more and more haggard and morose, and looked 
more like an imp of darkness than a human 
being. He spoke to no one, but went about mut- 
tering to himself; or, as some hinted, talking with 
the devil, who, though unseen, was ever at his 
elbow. Now and then he was seen pulling about 
the bay alone in his skiff, in dark weatlier, or at 
the approach of nightfall ; nobody could tell why, 



GUr.STS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 211 

unless on an errand to invite more guests from 
the gallows. Indeed, it was affirmed that the 
Wild Goose still continued to be a house of enter- 
tainment for such guests, and that on stormy 
nights the blue chamber was occasionally illumi- 
nated, and sounds of diabolical merriment were 
overheard, mingling with the howling of the tem- 
pest. Some treated these as idle stories, until on 
one such night, it was about the time of the 
equinox, there was a horrible uproar in the Wild 
Goose, that could not be mistaken. It was not 
so much the sound of revelry, however, as sti'ife, 
with two or three piercing shrieks, that pervaded 
every part of the village. Nevertheless, no one 
thought of hastening to the spot. On the con- 
trary, the honest burghers of Communipaw drew 
their nightcaps over their ears, and buried their 
heads under the bedclothes, at the thoughts of 
Vanderscamp and his gallows companions. 

The next morning, some of the bolder and 
more curious undertook to reconnoitre. All was 
quiet and lifeless at the Wild Goose. The door 
yawned wide open, and had evidently been open 
all night, for the storm had beaten into the house. 
Gathering more courage fi'om the silence and ap- 
parent desertion, they gradually ventured over 
the threshold. The house had indeed the air of 
having been possessed by devils. Everything 
was topsy-turvy ; trunks had been broken open, 
and chests of drawers and corner cupboards 
tiu-ned inside out, as in a time of general sack 
and pillage ; but the most woful sight was the 
widow of Yan Yost Vanderscamp, extended a 



278 GUJ':STS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 

corpse on the floor of the blue chamber, with the 
marks of a deadly gripe on the windpipe. 

All now was conjecture and dismay at Com- 
munipaw ; and the disappearance of old Pluto, 
who was nowhere to be found, gave rise to all 
kinds of wild surmises. Some suggested that 
the negi-o had betrayed the house to some of 
Vanderscamp's buccaneering associates, and that 
they had decamped together with the booty ; 
others surmised that the neojro was nothincr more 
nor less than a devil incarnate, who had now ac- 
complished his ends, and made off with his dues. 

Events, however, vindicated the negro from 
this last imputation. His skilF was picked up, 
drifting about the bay, bottom upward, as if 
wrecked in a tempest ; and his body was found, 
shortly afterward, by some Communipaw fisher- 
men, stranded among the rocks of Gibbet Island, 
near the foot of the pirates' gallows. The fisher- 
men shook their heads, and observed that old 
Pluto had ventured once too often to invite 
Guests from Gibbet Island. 





THE EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH 
RINGWOOD. 

NOTED DOWN FROM HIS CONVERSATIONS : BY GEOFFREY 
CRAYON, GENT.* 




AM a Kentuckian by residence and 
choice, but a Virginian by birth. The 
cause of my first leaving the 'Ancient 
Dominion,' and emigrating to Kentucky, was a 
jackass ! You stare, but liave a little patience, 
and 1 '11 soon show you how it came to pass. 
My father, who was one of the old Virginian 
families, resided in Richmond. He was a wid- 
ower, and his domestic affairs were managed by a 
housekeeper of the old school, such as used to 
administer the concerns of opulent Virginian 
households. She was a dignitary that almost 
rivalled my fatlier in importance, and seemed to 
think everytliing belonged to lier ; in fact, she was 

* Kalph Ringwood, though a fictitious name, is a real per- 
sonage, — the late Governor Duval of Florida. I have given 
some anecdotes of his early and eccentric career, in, as nearly 
as I can recollect, the very words in which he related them. 
They certainly afford strong temptations to the embellish- 
ments of fiction; but I thought them so strikingly character- 
istic of the individual, and of the scenes and society into 
which his peculiar humors carried him, that I preferred giv- 
ing them in their original simplicity 



2S0 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

SO considerate in her economy, and so careful of 
expense, as sometimes to vex my father, wlio 
would swear she was disgracing him by her 
meanness. She always appeared with that an- 
cient insignia of housekeeping trust and author- 
ity, a great bunch of keys jingling at her girdle. 
She superintended the arrangements of the table 
at every meal, and saw that the dishes were all 
placed according to her primitive notions of sym- 
metry. In the evening she took her stand and 
served out tea with a mingled respectfulness and 
pride of station truly exemplary. Her great am- 
bition was to have everything in order, and that 
the establishment under her sway should be cited 
as a model of good housekeeping. If anything 
went wror>g, poor old Barbara would take it to 
heart, and sit in her room and cry, imtil a few 
chapters in the Bible would quiet her spirits, and 
make all calm again. The Bible, in fact, was her 
constant resort in time of trouble. She opened 
it indiscriminately, and whether she chanced 
among the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canti- 
cles of Solomon, or the rough enumeration of the 
tribes in Deuteronomy, a chapter was a chapter, 
and operated like balm to her soul. Such was 
our good old housekeeper Barbara ; who was des- 
tined, unwittingly, to have a most important effect 
upon my destiny. 

" It came to pass, during the days of my juve- 
nility, while I was yet what is termed ' an un- 
lucky boy,' that a gentleman of our neighborhood, 
a great advocate for experiments and improve- 
ments of all kinds, took it into his head that it 



EXPERIENCES OE RALPH RING WOOD. 281 

would be an immense public odvantage to intro- 
duce a breed of mules, and accordingly impoi'ted 
three jacks to stock the neighborhood. This in 
i\ })ai-t of the countiy where tlie people cared for 
nothing but blood horses ! Why, sir, they would 
have considered their mares disgraced, and their 
whole stud dishonored, by such a misalliance. 
The whole matter was a town-talk, and a town- 
scandal. The worthy amalgamator of quadru- 
peds found himself in a dismal scrape ; so he 
backed out in time, abjured the whole doctiine 
of amalgamation, and turned his jacks loose to 
shift for themselves upon the town common. 
There they used to run about and lead an idle, 
good-for-nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals 
in the country. 

"It so happened that my Avay to school lay 
jicross the common. The tirst time that I saw one 
of these animals, it set up a braying and frightened 
me confoundedly. However, I soon got over my 
fright, and seeing that it had something of a horse 
look, my Virginian love for anything of the eques- 
trian species predominated, and I determined to 
back it. I accordingly applied at a grocer's shop, 
procured a cord that had been round a loaf of 
sugar, and made a kind of halter ; then, summon- 
ing some of my school-fellows, we drove master 
Jack about the common until we hemmed him in 
an angle of a ' worm - fence.' After some diffi- 
culty, we fixed the halter round his muzzle, and 
I mounted. Up flew his heels, away I went over 
his head, and off he scampered. However, I was 
on my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, caught him, 



282 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

and remounted. By dint of repeated tumbles I 
soon learned to stick to his back, so that he could 
no more cast me than he could his own skin. 
From that time, master Jack and his companions 
had a scampering life of it, for we all rode them 
between school-hours, and on holiday afternoons ; 
and you may be sure school-boys' nags are never 
permitted to suffer the grass to grow under their 
feet. They soon became so knowing, that they 
took to their heels at sight of a school-boy ; and 
we w^ere generally much longer in chasing than 
we were in riding them. 

" Sunday approached, on which I projected an 
equestrian excursion on one of these long-eared 
steeds. As I knew the jacks would be in great 
demand on Sunday morning, I secured one over 
night, and conducted him home, to be ready for 
an early outset. But where was I to quarter him 
for the night ? I could not put him in the stable ; 
our old black groom George was as absolute in 
that domain as Barbara was within doors, and 
would have thought his stable, his horses, and him- 
self disgraced by the introduction of a jackass. 
I recollected the smoke-house, — an out-building 
appended to all Virginian establishments, for the 
smoking of hams and other kinds of meat. So 
I got the key, put master Jack in, locked the door, 
returned the key to its place, and went to bed, 
intending to release my prisoner at an early houi, 
before any of the family were awake. I was so 
tired, however, by the exertions I had made in 
catching the donkey, that I fell into a sound sleep, 
and the morning broke without my waking. 



EXPERJENChS OF RALPH RING WOOD. 283 

" Not so with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. 
As usual, to use lier own phrase, ' she was up be 
fore the crow put his shoes on,' and bustled about 
to get things in order for breakfast. Her first 
resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce had she 
opened the door, wlien master Jack, tired of his 
confinement, and glad to be released from dark- 
ness, gave a loud bray, and rushed forth. Down 
dropped old Barbara ; the animal trampled over 
her, and made off for the common. Poor Bar- 
bara ! She had never before seen a donkey ; and 
having read in the Bible that the Devil went about 
like a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour, 
she took it for granted that this was Beelzebub 
himself. The kitchen was soon in a hubbub ; the 
servants hurried to the spot. There lay old Bar- 
bara in fits ; as fast as she got out of one, the 
thoughts of the Devil came over her, and she fell 
into another, for the good soul was devoutly su- 
perstitious. 

" As ill luck would have it, among those at- 
tracted by the noise, was a little cursed fidgetty, 
crabbed uncle of mine : one of those uneasy spirits 
that cannot rest quietly in their beds in the morn- 
ing, but must be up early, to bother the house- 
hold. He was only a kind of half-uncle, after 
all, for he had married my father's sister ; yet he 
assumed great authority on the strength of this 
left-handed relationship, and was a universal inter- 
meddler and family pest. This prying little busy- 
body soon ferreted out the truth of the story, and 
discovered, by hook and by crook, that I was at 
the bottom of the affair, and had locked up the 



284 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

rlonkey in the smoke-house. He stopped to hi- 
quire no farther, for he was one of tliose testy 
curmudgeons with whom unhicky boys are always 
i!i the wronof. Leavin^^ old Barbara to wi-estle 
in imagination with the Devil, he made for my 
bedchamber, where I still lay wrapped in rosy 
slumbers, little dreaming of the mischief I had 
done, and the storm about to break over me. 

" In an instant I was awakened by a shower 
of thwacks, and started up in wild amazement. 
I demanded the meaning of this attack, but re- 
ceived no other reply than that I had murdered 
the housekeeper ; while my uncle continued whack- 
ing away during my confusion. I seized a poker, 
and put myself on the defensive. I was a stout 
boy for my years, while my uncle was a little wif- 
fet of a man ; one that in Kentucky we would not 
call even an ' individual ; ' nothing more tlian a 
' remote circumstance.' I soon, therefore, brought 
liim to a parley, and learned the whole extent of 
the charge brought against me. I confessed to 
the donkey and the smoke-house, but pleaded not 
guilty of the murder of the housekeeper. I soon 
found out that old Barbara was still alive. She 
continued under the doctor's hands, however, for 
several days ; and whenever she had an ill turn, 
my uncle would seek to give me another flogging. 
I appealed to my father, but got no redress. I 
was considered an ' unlucky boy,' prone to all 
kinds of mischief; so that prepossessions were 
against me, in all cases of appeal. 

" I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had 
been beaten, degraded, and treated with slighting 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 2So 

wlien 1 complained. I lost my usual good spirits 
and good-humor ; and, being out of temper with 
everybody, fancied everybody out of temper with 
me. A certain wild, roving spii'it of freedom, 
Avliich I believe is as inherent in me as it is in the 
partridge, was brought into sudden activity by the 
checks and restraints I suffered. ' I '11 go from 
home,' thought I, ' and shift for myself.' Perhaps 
this notion was quickened by the rage for emi- 
grating to Kentucky which was at that time prev- 
alent in Virginia. I had heard such stories of 
the romantic beauties of the country, of the abun- 
dance of game of all kinds, and of the glorious 
independent life of the hunters who ranged its 
noble forests, and lived by the rifle, that I was as 
much agog to get there as boys who live in sea- 
ports are to launch themselves among the wonders 
and adventures of the ocean. 

" After a time, old Barbara got better in mind 
and body, and matters were explained to her ; 
and she became gradually convinced that it was 
not the Devil she had encountered. AYhen she 
heard how harshly I had been treated on her ac- 
count, the good old soul was extremely grieved, 
and spoke warmly to my father in my behalf. 
He had himself remarked the change in my be- 
havior, and thought punishment might have been 
carried too far. He sought, therefore, to have some 
conversation with me, and to soothe my feelings ; 
but it was too late. I frankly told him the course 
of mortitication that I had experienced, and the 
fixed determination I had made to go from home. 

" ' And whei-e do you mean to go ? ' 



286 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

•' ' To Kentucky.' 

" ' To Kentucky ! Why, you know noboclj 
there.' 

" ' No matter ; I can soon make acquaintances.' 

" ' And what will you do when you get there ? ' 

" ' Hunt ! ' 

" My father gave a long, low whistle, and looked 
in my face with a serio-comic expression. I was 
not far in my teens, and to talk of setting off alone 
for Kentucky, to turn hunter, seemed doubtless 
the idle prattle of a boy. He was little aware of 
the dogged resolution of my character ; and his 
smile of incredulity but fixed me more obstinately 
in my purpose. I assured him I was serious in 
what I said, and would certainly set off for Ken- 
tucky in the spring. 

" Month after month passed away. My father 
now and then adverted slightly to what had passed 
between us ; doubtless for the purpose of sound- 
ing me. I always expressed the same grave and 
fixed determination. By degrees he spoke to me 
more directly on the subject, endeavoring ear- 
nestly but kindly to dissuade me. My only reply 
was, ' I had made up my mind.' 

" Accordingly, as soon as the spring had fairly 
opened, I sought him one day in his study, and 
informed him 1 was about to set out for Kentucky, 
and had come to take my leave. He made no 
objection, for he had exhausted persuasion and 
remonstrance, and doubtless thought it best to 
give way to my humor, trusting that a little rough 
experience would soon bring me home again. I 
asked money for my journey. He went to a 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 287 

chest, took out a long green silk purse, well filled, 
and laid it on the table. I now asked for a horse 
and servant. 

" ' A iiorse ! ' said my father, sneeringly, ' why 
you would not go a mile without racing him, and 
breaking your rieck ; and as to a servant, you can- 
not take care of yourself, much less of him.' 

" ' How am I to travel, then ? ' 

" ' Why, I suppose you are man enough to travel 
on foot.' 

" He spoke jestingly, little thinking I would 
take him at his word ; but I was thoroughly 
piqued in respect to my enterprise ; so I pocketed 
the purse, went to my room, tied up three or four 
HJiirts in a pocket-handkerchief, put a dirk in ray 
bosom, girt a couple of pistols round my waist, 
and felt like a knight-errant armed cap-a-pie, and 
ready to rove the world in quest of adventures. 

" My sister (I had but one) hung round me 
and wept, and entreated me to stay. I felt my 
heart swell in my throat ; but I gulped it back to 
its place, and straightened myself up : I would 
not suffer myself to cry. I at length disengaged 
myself fi*om her, and got to the door. 

" ' When will you come back ? ' cried she. 

" ' Never, by heavens ! ' cried I, ' until I come 
back a member of Congress from Kentucky. I am 
<letermined to show that I am not the tail-end of 
ihe family.' 

" Such was my first outset from home. You 
'nay suppose what a greenhorn I was, and how 
little I knew of the world I was launching into. 

" I do not recollect any incident of importance, 



288 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

until I reached the borders of Pennsylvania. I 
had stopped at an inn to get some refreshment ; 
as I was eating in a back-room, I overheard two 
men in the bar-room conjecture who and what I 
could be. One determined, at length, that I Avas 
a runaway apprentice, and ought to be stopped, to 
which the other assented. When I had finished 
my meal, and paid for it, I went out at the back- 
door, lest I should be stopped by my supervisors. 
Scorning, however, to steal off like a culprit, I 
walked round to the front of the house. One of 
the men advanced to the front-door. He wore 
his hat on one side, and had a consequential air 
that nettled me. 

" ' Where are you going, youngster ?' demanded 
he. 

" ' That 's none of your business ! ' replied I, 
rather pertly. 

" ' Yes, but it is though ! You have run away 
from home, and must give an account of youivself.' 

" He advanced to seize me, when I drew forth 
a pistol. ' If you advance another step, I '11 shoot 
you!' 

" He sprang back as if he had trodden upon a 
rattlesnake, and his hat fell off in the movement. 

" ' Let him alone ! ' cried his companion ; ' he 's 
a foolish, mad-headed boy, and don't know what 
he 's about. He '11 shoot you, you may rely on it.' 

" He did not need any caution in the matter ; 
he was afraid even to pick up his hat ; so I 
pushed forward on my way without molestation. 
This incident, however, had its effect upon me. I 
became fearful of sleeping in any house at night, 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH ItlNliWOOD. 289 

lest I should he stopped. I took my meals in the 
houses, in the course of the day, but would turn 
aside at night into some wood or ravine, make a 
fire, and sleep before it. This I considered was 
true hunter's style, and I wished to inure myself 
to it. 

" At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg-weary 
and waywoj'n, and in a shabby plight, as you may 
suppose, having been ' camping out ' for some 
nights past. I applied at some of the inferior 
inns, but could gain no admission. I was regarded 
for a moment with a dubious eye, and then in- 
formed they did not receive foot-passengers. At 
last I went boldly to the principal inn. The 
landlord appeared as unwilling as the rest to 
receive a vagrant boy beneath his roof; but his 
wife interfered in the midst of his excuses, and, 
half elbowing him aside, — 

" ' Where are you going, my lad ? ' said she. 

" ' To Kentucky.' 

" ' What are you going there for ? ' 

" ' To hunt.' 

" She looked earnestly at me for a moment or 
two. ' Have you a mother living ? ' said she at 
length. 

" ' No, madam ; she has been dead for some 
time.' 

" ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. ' I knew 
if you had a mother living, you would not be here.' 
From tJKit moment the good woman treated me 
with a mother's kindness. 

I remained several days beneath her roof, re- 
covering from the fatigue of my journey. While 
19 



290 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

here, I purchased a rifle, and practised daily at a 
mark, to prepare myself for a hunter's life. When 
sufficiently recruited in strength, I took leave of 
my kind host and hostess, and resumed my 
journey. 

" At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed 
family boat, technically called a broad-horn, a 
prime river conveyance in those days. In this 
ark for two weeks I floated down the Oiiio. The 
river was as yet in all its wild beauty. Its lofti- 
est trees had not been thinned out. The forest 
overhung the water's edge, and was occasionally 
skirted by immense canebrakes. Wild animals 
of all kinds abounded. We heard them rushing 
through the tickets and plashing in the water. 
Deer and bears would frequently swim across the 
river ; others would come down to the bank, and 
gaze at the boat as it passed. I was incessantly 
on the alert with my rifle ; but, somehow or other, 
the game was never within shot. Sometimes I 
got a chance to land and try my skill on shore. 
I shot squirrels, and small birds, and even wild 
turkeys ; but though I caught glimpses of deer 
bounding away through the woods, I never could 
get a fair shot at them. 

" In this way we glided in our broad-horn 
past Cincinnati, the ' Queen of the West,' as she 
is now called, then a mere group of log-cabins ; 
and the site of the bustling city of Louisville, 
then designated by a solitary house. As I said 
before, the Ohio was as yet a wild river ; all was 
forest, forest, forest ! Near the confluence of 
(iifHMi River with the Ohio I landed, bade adieu 



EXPKRfEXCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 291 

to the broad-horn, and struck for the interior of 
Kentucky. I had no precise plan ; my only idea 
was to make for one of the wildest parts of the 
country. I had relatives in Lexington and other 
settled places, to whom I thought it probable my 
father would write concerning me ; so, as I was 
full of manhood and independence, and resolutely 
bent on making my way in the world without 
assistance or control, I resolved to keep clear of 
them all. 

" In the course of my first day's trudge I shot 
a wild turkey, and slung it on my back for pro- 
visions. The forest was open and clear from un- 
derwood. I saw deer in abundance, but always 
runnino;, runninir. It seemed to me as if these 
animals never stood still. 

" At length I came to where a gang of half- 
starved wolves were feasting on the carcass of a 
deer which they had run down, and snarling and 
snapping, and fighting like so many dogs. They 
were all so ravenous and intent upon their prey 
that tiiey did not notice me, and 1 had time to make 
my observations. One, larger and fiercer than the 
rest, seemed to claim the larger share, and to keep 
the others in awe. If any one came too near him 
while eating, he would fly off, seize and shake 
him, and then return to his repast. ' This,' thought 
I, ' must be the captain ; if I can kill him, I shall 
defeat the whole army.' I accordingly took aim, 
fired, and down dropped the old fellow. He might 
be only shamming dead ; so I loaded and put a 
second ball through him. He never budged ; all 
the rest ran off, and my victory was complete. 



292 EXPERIENCES OE RALPH RINGWOOD. 

" It would not be easy to describe my tri- 
umphant feelings on this great achievement. I 
marched on with renovated spirit, regarding my- 
self as absolute lord of the forest. As night drew 
near, I prepared for camping. My first care was 
to collect dry wood and make a roaring fire to 
cook and sleep by, and to frighten off wolves, and 
bears, and panthers. I then began to pluck my 
turkey for supper. I had camped out several 
times in the early part of my expedition ; but that 
was in comparatively more settled and civilized 
regions, where there were no wild animals of con- 
sequence in the forest. This was my first camp- 
ing out in the real wilderness, and I was soon 
made sensible of the loneliness and wildness of 
my situation. 

" In a little while a concert of wolves com- 
menced ; there might have been a dozen or two, 
but it seemed to me as if there were thousauds. 
I never heard such howling and whining. Hav- 
ing prepared my turkey, I divided it into two 
parts, thrust two sticks into one of the halves, and 
planted them on end before the fire, — the hunt- 
er's mode of roastinjy. The smell of roast meat 
quickened the appetites of the wolves, and their 
concert became truly infernal. They seemed to 
be all around me, but I could only now and then 
get a glimpse of one of them, as he came within 
the glare of the light. 

" I did not much care for the wolves, who I 
knew to be a cowardly race, but I had heard ter- 
rible stories of panthers, and began to fear their 
stealthy prowlings in the surrounding darkness. 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 293 

I was thirsty, and heard a brook bubbling and 
tinkling along at no great distance, but absolutely 
dared not go there, lest some panther might lie 
in wait and spring upon me. By and by a deer 
wliistled. I had never heard one before, and 
tliought it must be a panther. I now felt uneasy 
lest he might climb the trees, crawl along the 
branches overhead, and plump down upon me ; 
so I kept my eyes fixed or the branches, until my 
head ached. I more than once thought I saw 
fiery eyes glaring down from among the leaves. 
At length I thought of my supper, and turned to 
see if my half turkey was cooked. In crowding 
so near the fire, I had pressed the meat into the 
fiames, and it was consumed. I had nothing to 
do but toast the other half, and take better care 
of it. On that half I made ray supper, without 
salt or bread. I was still so possessed with the 
dread of panthers, that I could not close my eyes 
all night, but lay watching the trees until day- 
break, when all my fears were dispelled with the 
darkness ; and as I saw the morning sun sparkling 
down through the branches of the trees, I smiled 
to think how I suffered myself to be dismayed by 
sounds and shadows ; but I was a young woods- 
man, and a stranger in Kentucky. 

" Having breakfasted on the remainder of my 
turkey and slacked my thirst at the bubbling 
stream, without farther dread of panthers, I re- 
sumed my wayfaring with buoyant feelings. I 
again saw deer, but, as usual, running, running I 
I tried in vain to get a shot at them, and began 
to fear I never should. I was gazing with vex- 



294 EXPERIENCES OE RALPH RING WOOD. 

ation after a herd in full scamper, when 1 was 
startled by a human voice. Turning round, I 
saw a man at a short distance from me in a hunt- 
ing-dress. 

" ' What are you after, my lad ? ' cried he. 

" ' Those deer, ' replied I, pettishly ; ' but it 
seems as if they never stand still.' 

" Upon that he burst out laughing. ' Where 
are you from ? ' said he. 

'' ' From Richmond.' 

" ' What ! In old Virginny ? ' 

" ' The same.' 

" ' And how on earth did you get here ? ' 

" ' I landed at Green River from a broad- 
horn.' 

" 'And where are your companions ? ' 

" ' I have none.' 

" ' What ? — all alone ! ' 

" ' Yes.' 

" ' Where are you going ? ' 

" ' Anywhere.' 

" ' And what have you come here for ? ' 

" ' To hunt.' 

" ' Well,' said he, laughingly, ' you '11 make a 
real hunter ; there 's no mistaking that ! 

" ' Have you killed anything ? ' 

" ' Nothing but a turkey ; I can't get within 
shot of a deer ; they are always running.' 

" ' Oh, I '11 tell you the secret of that. You 're 
always pushing forward, and starting the deer at 
a distance, and gazing at those that are scamper- 
ing ; but you must step as slow and silent and 
cautious as a cat, and keep your eyes close around 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 295 

you, and lurk from tree to tree, if you wish to get 
t» ehauce at deer. But coine, go home with me. 
My name is Bill Smithers ; I live not far off, 
stay witli me a little while, and I '11 teach you how 
to hunt.' 

" I gladly accepted the invitation of honest- 
Bill Smithers. We soon reached his habitation : 
a mere log-hut, with a square hole for a window, 
and a chimney made of sticks and clay. Here 
lie lived, with a wife and child. He had ' girdled ' 
the trees for an acre or two around, preparatory 
to clearing a space for corn and potatoes. In the 
mean time he maintained his family entirely by 
his rifle, and I soon found him to be a first-rate 
huntsman. Under his tutelage I received my 
first effective lessons in ' woodcraft.' 

" The more I knew of a hunter's life, the more 
I relished it. The country, too, which had been 
the promised land of my boyhood, did not, like 
most promised lands, disappoint me. No wilder- 
ness could be more beautiful than this part of 
Kentucky in those times. The forests were open 
and spacious, with noble trees, some of which 
looked as if they had stood for centuries. There 
were beautiful prairies, too, diversified with groves 
and clumps of trees, which looked like vast parks, 
and in which you could see the deer running, at a 
great distance. In the proper season, these prai- 
ries would be covered in many places with wild 
strawberries, where your horse's hoofs would be 
dyed to the fetlock. I thought there could not 
be another place in the world equal to Kentucky ; 
— and I think so still. 



20 G EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

"After I had passed ten or twelve days with 
Bill Smithers, I thought it time to sliift my quar- 
ters, for his house was scarce large enough fbi 
his own family, and I had no idea of being an 
encumbrance to any one. I accordingly made up 
my bundle, shouldered my rifle, took a friendly 
leave of Smithers and his wife, and set out in 
quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, one John 
Miller, who lived alone, nearly forty miles off, and 
who I hoped would be well pleased to have a 
hunting companion. 

" I soon found out that one of the most impor- 
tant items in woodcraft, in a new country, was 
the skill to find one's way in the wilderness. 
There were no regular roads in the forests, but 
they were cut up and perplexed by paths leading 
in all directions. Some of these were made by 
the cattle of the settlers, and were called ' stock- 
tracks,' but others had been made by the immense 
droves of buffiiloes which roamed about the coun- 
try from the flood until recent times. These 
were called buffalo-tracks, and traversed Ken- 
tucky from end to end, like highways. Traces of 
them may still be seen in uncultivated parts, or 
deeply worn in the rocks where they crossed the 
mountains. I was a young woodsman, and sorely 
puzzled to distinguish one kind of track from the 
other, or to make out my course through this 
tangled labyrinth. While thus perplexed, I heard 
a distant roaring and rusliing sound ; a gloom 
stole over the forest. On looking up, when I 
could catch a stray glimpse of the sky, I beheld 
the clouds rolled up like balls, the lower part as 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 297 

black as ink. There was now and then an ex- 
plosion, like a burst of cannonry afar off, and the 
crash of a falling tree. I had heard of hurri- 
canes in the woods, and surmised that one was at 
hand. It soon came crashing its way, the forest 
writhing, and twisting, and groaning before it. 
The hurricane did not extend far on either side, 
but in a manner ploughed a furrow through the 
woodland, snapping off or uprooting trees that 
had stood for centuries, and filling the air with 
whirling branches. I was directly in its course, 
and took my stand behind an immense poplar, six 
feet in diameter. It bore for a time the full fury 
of the blast, but at length began to yield. Seeing 
it falling, I scrambled nimbly round the trunk 
like a squirrel. Down it went, bearing down 
another tree with it. I crept under the trunk 
as a shelter, and was protected from other trees 
which fell around me, but was sore all over, 
from the twigs and branches driven against me 
by the blast. 

" This was the only incident of consequence 
that occurred on my way to John Miller's, where 
I arrived on the following day, and was received 
by the veteran with the rough kindness of a back- 
woodsman. He was a grayhaired man, hardy 
and weather-beaten, with a blue wart, like a great 
bead, over one eye, whence he was nicknamed by 
the huntei-s, ' Blue-bead Miller.' He had been 
in these parts from the earliest settlements, and 
had signalized himself in tiie hard conflicts with 
the Indians, wliich gained Kentucky the appelhi- 
tion of * the Bloody Ground.' In one of these 



298 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

fights he had had an arm broken ; in another 
he had naiTowly escaped, when hotl} pursued, 
by jumping fi'om a precipice thirty feet high into 
a river. 

" Miller willingly received me into his house 
as an inmate, and seemed pleased with the idea 
of making a hunter of me. His dwelling was a 
small log- house, with a loft or garret of boards, 
so that there was ample room for both of us. 
Under his instruction, I soon made a tolerable 
proficiency in hunting. My first exploit of any 
consequence was killing a bear. I was hunting 
in company with two brothers, when we came 
upon the track of Bruin, in a wood where there 
w^as an undergi-owth of canes and grape-vines. 
He was scrambling up a tree, when I shot him 
through the breast ; he fell to the ground, and 
lay motionless. The brothers sent in their dog, 
who seized the bear by the throat. Bruin raised 
one arm, and gave the dog a hug that crushed 
his ribs. One yell, and all was over. I don't 
know which was first dead, the dog or the bear. 
The two brothers sat down and cried like children 
over their unfortunate dog. Yet they were mere 
rough huntsmen, almost as wild and untamable as 
Indians ; but they were fine fellows. 

" By degrees I became known, and somewhat 
of a favorite araonoj the hunters of the neighbor- 
hood ; that is to say, men who lived within a cir- 
cle of thirty or forty miles, and came occasionally 
to see John Miller, who was a patriarch among 
them. They lived widely apart, in log-huts and 
wigwams, almost with the simplicity of Indians, 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 299 

and wellnigb as destitute of the comforts and 
inventions of civilized life. They seldom saw 
each other ; weeks, and even months would elapse, 
without their visiting. When they did meet, it 
was very much after the manner of Indians ; 
loitering about all day, without having much to 
sav, but becoming communicative as evenino^ ad- 
vanced, and sitting up half the night before the 
fire, telling hunting-stories, and terrible tales of 
the fights of the Bloody Ground. 

" Sometimes several would join in a distant 
liunting expedition, or rather campaign. Expe- 
ditions of this kind lasted from November until 
April, during which we laid up our stock of sum- 
mer provisions. We shifted our hunting-camps 
from place to place, according as we found the 
game. They were generally pitched near a run 
of water, and close by a canebrake, to screen us 
from the wind. One side of our lodge was open 
towards the fire. Our horses were hoppled and 
turned loose in the canebrakes, with bells round 
their necks. One of the party stayed at home to 
\\'atch the camp, prepare the meals, and keep off 
the wolves ; the others hunted. When a hunter 
killed a deer at a distance from the camp, he 
would open it and take out the entrails ; then, 
climbing a sappling, he would bend it down, tie 
the deer to the top, and let it spring up again, so 
as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the 
wolves. At night he would return to the camp, 
and give an account of his luck. The next morn- 
ing early he would get a horse out of the cane- 
brake and bring home his game. That day he 



300 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

would stay at home to cut up the carcass, while 
the others hunted. 

" Our days were thus spent in silent and lonely 
occupations. It was only at night that we would 
gather together before the fire, and be sociable. 
I was a novice, and used to listen with open eyes 
and ears to the strange and wild stories told by 
the old hunters, and believed everything I heard. 
Some of their stories bordered upon the super- 
natural. They believed that their rifles might be 
spellbound, so as not to be able to kill a buffalo, 
even al arm's length. This superstition they had 
d-erived from the Indians, who often think the 
white hunters have laid a spell upon their rifles. 
Miller partook of this superstition, and used to 
tell of his rifle's having a spell upon it; but it 
often seemed to me to be a shuffling way of ac- 
counting for a bad shot. If a hunter grossly 
missed his aim, he would ask, ' Who shot last 
with his rifle ? ' — and hint that he must have 
charmed it. The sure mode to disenchant the 
gun was to shoot a silver bullet out of it. 

" By the opening of spring we would generally 
have quantities of bear's meat and venison salted, 
dried, and smoked, and numerous packs of skins. 
We would then make the best of our way home 
from our distant hunting-grounds, transporting 
our spoils, sometimes in canoes along the rivers, 
sometimes on horseback over land, and our return 
Avould often be celebrated by feasting and dancing, 
in true backwoods style. I have given you some 
idea of our hunting ; let me now give you a sketch 
of our frolicking. 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. oOl 

" It was on our return from a winter's hunting 
in the neighborhood of Green River, when we 
received notice tliat there was to be a grand frolic 
at Bob Mosely's, to greet the hunters. This Bob 
Mosely was a prime fellow throughout the coun- 
try. He was an indifferent hunter, it is true, and 
rather lazy, to boot ; but then he could play the 
fiddle, and that was enough to make him of con- 
sequence. There was no other man within a 
hundred miles that could play the fiddle, so there 
was no having a regular frolic without Bob 
Mosely. The hunters, therefore, were always 
ready to give him a share of their game in ex- 
change for his music, and Bob was always ready 
to get up a carousal wdienever there was a party 
returning from a hunting expedition. The present 
frolic was to take place at Bob Mosely's own 
house, which was on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of 
the Muddy, which is a branch of Rough Creek, 
which is a branch of Green River. 

" Everybody was agog for the revel at Bob 
Mosely's ; and as all the fashion of the neighbor- 
hood was to be there, I thought I must brush up 
for the occasion. My leathern hunting-dress, 
which was the only one I had, was somewhat 
the worse for wear, it is true, and considerably 
japanned with blood and grease ; but I was up to 
hunting expedients. Getting into a periogue, T 
paddled off to a part of the Green River where 
there was sand and clay, that might serve for 
soap ; then, taking off my dress, I scrubbed and 
scoured it, until I thought it looked very well. 
I then put it on the end of a stick, and hung it 



302 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

out of the periogne to dry, while I stretched 
myself very comfortably on the green bank of 
the river. Unluckily a flaw struck the periogue, 
and tipped over the stick ; down went my dress 
to the bottom of the river, and I never saw it 
more. Here was I, left almost in a state of 
nature. I managed to make a kind of Robinson 
Crusoe garb of undressed skins, with the hair on, 
which enabled me to get home with decency ; 
but my dream of gayety and fashion was at 
an end ; for how could I think of figuring in 
high life at the Pigeon-Roost, equipped like a 
mere Orson? 

"Old Miller, who really began to take some 
pride in me, was confounded when he understood 
tliat I did not intend to go to Bob Mosely's ; but 
when I told him my misfortune, and that I had 
no dress, ' By the powers,' cried he, ' but you 
shall go, and you shall be the best dressed and 
the best mounted lad there ! ' 

" He itnmediately set to work to cut out and 
make up a hunting-shirt, of dressed deer-skin, 
gayly fringed at the shoulders, and leggins of the 
same, fringed from hip to heel. He then made 
me a rakish raccoon-cap, with a flaunting tail to 
it, mounted me on his best horse ; and I may say, 
without vanity, that I was one of the smartest 
fellows that figured on that occasion at the Pigeon- 
Roost Fork of the Muddy. 

"It was no small occasion, either, let me tell 
you. Bob Mosely's house was a tolerably large 
bark shanty, with a clapboard roof; and there 
were assembled all the young hunters and pretty 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 303 

girls of the country for many a mile round. The 
young men were in their best hunting-dresses, 
but not one could compare with mine ; and my 
raccoon-cap, with its flowing tail, was the admira- 
tion of everybody. The girls were mostly in 
doe-skin dresses ; for there was no spinning and 
weaving as yet in the woods, nor any need of it. 
I never saw girls that seemed to me better 
dressed, and I was somewhat of a judge, having 
seen fashions at Richmond. We had a hearty 
dinner, and a merry one ; for there was Jemmy 
Kiel, famous for raccoon-hunting, and Bob Tarle- 
ton, and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, and 
several other prime fellows for a frolic, that made 
all ring again, and laughed that you might have 
heard them a mile. 

" After dinner we began dancing, and were 
hard at it when, about three o'clock in the after- 
noon, there was a new arrival — the two daugh- 
ters of old Simon Schultz ; two young ladies that 
affected fashion and late hours. Their arrival 
had nearly put an end to all our merriment. I 
must go a little round about in my story to ex- 
plain to you how that ha[)pened. 

" As old Schultz, the father, was one day look- 
ing in the canebrakes for his cattle, he came upon 
the track of horses. He knew they were none 
of his, and that none of his neighbors had horses 
about that place. They must be stray horses, or 
must belong to some traveller who had lost his 
way, as the track led nowhere. He accordingly 
followed it up, until he came to an unlucky ped- 
dler, with two or three packhorses, who had been 



304 EXPERFENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

bewildered among the cattle-tracks, and had wann 
dered for two or three days among woods and 
canebrakes, until he was almost famished. 

" Old Schultz brought him to his house, fed 
him on venison, bear's meat, and hominy, and at 
the end of a week put him in prime condition. 
The peddler could not sufficiently express his 
thankfulness, and when about to depart, inquii-ed 
what he had to pay. Old Schultz stepped back; 
with surprise. 'Stranger,' said he, 'you have 
been welcome under my roof. I 've given you 
nothing but wild meat and hominy, because I had 
no better, but have been glad of your company. 
You are welcome to stay as long as you please ; 
but, by Zounds ! if any one offers to pay Simon 
Schultz for food, he affronts him ! ' So saying, 
lie walked out in a huff. 

" The peddler admired the hospitality of his 
host, but could not reconcile it to his conscience 
to go away without making some recompense. 
There were honest Simon's two daughters, two 
strapping, red-haired girls. He opened his packs 
and displayed riches before them of which they 
had no conception ; for in those days there were 
no country stores in those parts, with their arti- 
ficial finery and trinketry ; and this was the first 
peddler that liad wandered into that part of the 
wilderness. Tlie girls were for a time completely 
dazzled, and knew not what to choose ; but what 
caught their eyes most were two looking-glasses, 
about the size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They 
had never seen the like before, having used no 
other mirror than a pail of water. The peddler 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 305 

presented them these jewels without the least 
hesitation ; nay, he gallantly hung them round 
their necks by red ribbons, almost as fine as the 
glasses themselves. This done, he took his de- 
parture, leaving them as much astonished as two 
pi-incesses in a fairy tale, that have received a 
mastic gfift from an enchanter. 

" It was with tliese looking-glasses hung round 
their necks as lockets, by red ribbons, that old 
Schultz's daughters made their appearance at 
three o'clock in the afternoon, at the frolic at 
Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the 
Muddy. 

" By the powers, but it was an event ! Such 
a thing had never before been seen in Kentucky. 
Bob Tarleton, a strapping fellow, with a head like 
a chestnut-burr, and a look like a boar ia an 
ajiple-orchard, stepped up, caught hold of the 
looking-glass of one of the girls, and gazing at it 
for a moment, cried out : ' Joe Taylor, come here ! 
come here ! I '11 be darn'd if Patty Schultz aint 
got a locket that you can see your face in, as clear 
as in a spring of water ! ' 

" In a twinkling all the young hunters gathered 
round old Schultz's daughters. I, who knew 
what looking-glasses were, did not budge. Some 
of the girls who sat near me were excessively 
mortified at finding themselves thus deserted. I 
heard Peggy Pugh say to Sally Pigman, ' Good- 
ness knows, it 's well Schultz's daughters is got 
them things round their necks, for it's the first 
time the yoiuig men crowded round them ! ' 

" I saw immediutely the danger of the case. 
20 



oOG EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

We were a small community, and could not afford 
to be split up by feuds. So I stepped up to the 
girls, and whispered to them : ' Polly,' said I, 
'those lockets are powerful fine, and become you 
amazingly, but you don't consider that the coun- 
try is not advanced enough in these parts for such 
things. You and I understand these matters, but 
these people don't. Fine things like these may 
do very well in the old settlements, but they won't 
answer at the Pigeon- Roost Fork of the Muddy. 
You had better lay them aside for the present, or 
we shall have no peace.' 

" Polly and her sister luckily saw their error ; 
they took off the lockets, laid them aside, and 
harmony was restored ; otherwise, I verily believe 
there would have been an end of our community. 
Indeed, notwithstanding the great sacrifice they 
made on this occasion, I do not think old Schultz's 
daughters were ever much liked afterwards among 
the young women. 

" This was the first time that looking-glasses 
were ever seen in the Green River part of Ken- 
tucky. 

" I had now lived some time with old Miller, 
and had become a tolerably expert hunter. Game, 
hovvever, began to grow scarce. The buffalo had 
gathered together, as if by universal imderstand- 
ing, and had crossed the Mississippi, never to re- 
turn. Strangers kept pouring into the countiy, 
clearing away the forests, and building in all 
directions. The hunters began to grow restive. 
Jemmy Kiel, the same of whom I have already 
spoken for his skill in raccoon catching, came 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 307 

to me one day. ' I can't stand this any longer/ 
said he, ' we 're getting too thick here. Simon 
Schiiltz crowds rae so that I have no comfort of 
my life.' 

'^ ' Wliy, how yon talk ! ' said I ; ' Simon Schultz 
lives twelve miles off.' 

" ' No matter ; his cattle run with mine, and 
I 've no idea of living where another man's cattle 
can run with mine. That 's too close neighbor- 
hood ; I want elbow-room. This country, too, is 
growing too poor to live in ; there 's no game ; so 
two or three of us have made up our minds to 
follow the buffalo to the Missouri, and we should 
like to have you of the party.' Other hunters 
of my acquaintance talked in the same manner. 
This set me thinking ; but the more T thought, 
the more I was perplexed. I had no one to ad- 
vise with ; old Miller and his associates knew of 
but one mode of life, and 1 had no experience in 
any other, but I had a wider scope of thought. 
When out hunting alone, I used to forget the 
sport, and sit for hours together on the trunk of a 
tree, with rifle in hand, buried in thought, and 
debating with myself: 'Shall I go with Jemmy 
Kiel and liis company, or shall I remain here ? 
If I remain here, there will soon be nothing left 
to hunt. But am I to be a hunter all my life ? 
Have not I something more in me than to be car- 
rying a rifle on my shoulder, day after day, and 
dodginij about after bears, and deei-, and other 
brute beasts ? ' My vanity told me I iuid ; and 
I called to mind my boyish boast to my sister, 
that I would never return home until I returned 



308 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

a member of Congress from Kentucky ; but was 
this the way to fit myself for such a station ? 

" Various plans passed through my miucl, but 
they were abandoned almost as soon as formed. 
At length I determined on becoming a lawyer. 
True it is, I knew almost nothing. I had left 
school before I had learnt beyond the ' Rule of 
Three.' ' Never mind,' said I to myself, reso- 
lutely, ' I am a terrible fellow for hanging on to 
anything when I 've once made up my mind ; 
and if a man has but ordinary capacity, and will 
set to work with heart and soul, and stick to it, 
he can do almost anything.' With this maxim, 
which has been pretty much my main stay through- 
out life, I fortified myself in my determination to 
attempt the law. But how was I to set about it ? 
I must quit this forest life, and go to one or other 
of the towns, where I might be able to study and 
to attend the courts. This, too, required funds. 
I examined into the state of my finances. The 
purse given me by my father had remained un- 
touched, in the bottom of an old chest up in the 
loft, for money was scarcely needed in these parts. 
I had bargained away the skins acquired in hunt- 
ing, for a horse and various other matters, on 
which, in case of need, I could raise funds. I 
therefore thought I could make shift to maintain 
myself until I was fitted for the bar. 

" I informed ray worthy host and patron, old 
Miller, of my plan. He shook his head at my 
turning my back upon the woods when I was in 
a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; but he 
made no effort to dissuade me. I accordingly set 



EXPER/ENCES Oy RALPH RlNdWOOD. 809 

DfF ill September, on horseback, intending to visii 
Lexington, Fi'unkfort, and other of the principal 
towns, in search of a favorable place to prosecute 
my studies. My choice was made sooner than I 
expected. I had put up one night at Bardstown, 
and found, on inquiry, that I could get comfortable 
board and accommodation in a private family for 
a dollar and a half a week. I liked the place, 
and resolved to look no farther. So the next 
morning I prepared to turn my face homeward, 
and take my final leave of forest life. 

" I had taken my breakfast, and was waiting 
for my horse, when, in pacing up and down the 
piazza, I saw a young girl seated near a window, 
evidently a visitor. She was very pretty, with 
auburn hair and blue eyes, and was dressed in 
wliite. I had seen nothing of the kind since I had 
left Richmond, and at that time I was too much of 
a boy to be much struck by female charms. She 
Avas so delicate and dainty-looking, so different 
from the hale, buxom, brown girls of the woods ; 
and then her white dress ! — it was perfectly 
dazzling ! Never was poor youth more taken 
by surprise and suddenly bewitched. My heart 
yearned to know her ; but how was I to accost 
her ? I had grown wild in the woods, and had 
none of tlie habitudes of polite life. Had she 
been like Peggy Pugli, or Sally Pigman, or any 
otlier of my leathern-dressed belles of the Pigeon- 
R(jost, I should liave approached her without 
dread ; nay, had she been as fair as Schultz's 
daughters, with their looking-glass lockets, I should 
uot have hesitated ; but that white dress and those 



310 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 

auburn ringlets, and blue eyes, and delicate looks, 
quite daunted while they fascinated me. I don't 
know what put it into my head, but I thought, all 
at once, that I would kiss her ! It would take a 
long acquaintance to arrive at such a boon, but I 
might seize upon it by sheer robbery. Nobody 
knew me here. I would just step in, snatch a 
kiss, mount my horse, and ride off. She would 
not be the worse for it ; and that kiss — oh ! I 
should die if I did not get it ! 

" I gave no time for the thought to cool, but 
entered the house and stepped lightly into the 
room. She was seated with her back to the door, 
looking out at the window, and did not hear my 
approach. I tapped her chair, and as she turned 
and looked up, I snatched as sweet a kiss as 
ever was stolen, and vanished in a twinkling. 
The next moment I was on horseback, galloping 
homeward, my very ears tingling at what I had 
done. 

" On my return home I sold my horse and 
turned everything to cash, and found, with the 
remains of the paternal purse, that I had nearly 
four hundred dollars, — a little capital which I re- 
solved to manage with the strictest economy. 

" It was hard parting with old Miller, who had 
been like a father to me ; it cost me, too, some- 
thing of a struggle to give up the free, indepen- 
dent wild-wood life I had hitherto led ; but I had 
marked out my course, and have never been one 
to flinch or turn back. 

" I footed it sturdily to Bardstown, took posses- 
sion of the quarters for which I had bargained, 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 311 

Bliiit myself up, and set to work with might and 
main to study. But what a task I had before 
me ! I had everything to learn ; not merely law, 
but all the elementary branches of knowledge. 
I read and read for sixteen hours out of the 
four-and-twenty, but the more I read the more I 
became aware of my own ignorance, and shed 
l)itter tears over my deficiency. It seemed as if 
the wilderness of knowledge expanded and grew 
more perplexed as I advanced. Every height 
gained only revealed a wider region to be trav- 
ersed, juid nearly filled me with despair. I grew 
moody, silent, and unsocial, but studied on dog- 
gedly and incessantly. The only person with 
wliom I held any conversation, was the worthy 
man in whose house I was quartered. He was 
liDuest and well-meaning, but perfectly ignorant, 
and I believe would liave liked me much better 
if I had not been so much addicted to reading. 
He considered all books filled with lies and impo- 
sitions, and seldom could look into one without 
finding something to rouse his spleen. Nothing 
put him into a greater passion than the assertion 
that the world turned on its own axis every four- 
and-twenty hours. He swore it was an outrage 
upon common sense. 'Why, if it did,' said he, 
' there would not be a drop of water in the well 
by morning, and all the milk and cream in the 
dairy would be turned topsy-turvy ! ' And then 
to talk of the earth going round the sun ! ' How 
do they know it ? I 've seen the sun rise every 
morning and set every evening for more than 
Miii-ty years. They must not talk to me about 
the earth's going round the sun ! ' 



312 EXPERflLVCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

"At anothor time he was in a perfect fret at 
being told the distance between the sun and 
moon. ' How can any one tell the distance ? ' 
cried he. ' Who surveyed it ? wlio carried the 
chain ? By Jupiter ! they only talk this way be- 
fore me to annoy me. But then there 's some 
people of sense who give in to this cursed hum- 
bug ! There 's Judge Broadnax, now, one of 
of the best lawyers we have ; is n't it surprising 
he should believe in such stuff? Why, sir, the 
other day I heard him talk of the distance from 
a star he called Mars to the sun ! He must have 
got it out of one or other of those confounded 
books he 's so fond of reading ; a book some im- 
pudent fellow has written, who knew nobody 
could swear the distance was more or less.' 

" For my own part, feeling my own deficiency 
in scientific lore, I never ventured to unsettle his 
conviction that the sun made his daily circuit 
round the earth ; and for aught I said to the con- 
trary, he lived and died in that belief. 

" I had been about a year at Bardstown, living 
thus studiously and reclusely, when, as I was one 
day walking the street, I met two young girls, in 
one of whom I immediately recalled the little 
beauty whom I had kissed so impudently. She 
blushed up to the eyes, and so did I ; but we both 
passed on without farther sign of recognition. 
Tins second glimpse of her, however, caused an 
odd fluttering about my heart. I could not get 
her out of my thoughts for days. She quite in- 
terfei-ed with my studies. I tried to think of her 
as a mere child, but it would not do ; she had im- 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH R:NGW00D. 313 

proved in beauty, and was tending toward woman- 
hood ; and then I myself was but little better 
than a strippling. However, I did not attempt 
to seek after her, or even to find out who she 
was, but returned doggedly to my books. By 
degrees she faded from my thoughts, or if she did 
cross them occasionally, it was only to increase 
my despondency, for I feared that with all my 
exertions, I should liever be able to fit myself for 
the bar, or enable myself to support a wife. 

'" One cold stormy evening I was seated, in 
dumpish mood, in the bar-room of the inn, look- 
ing into tlie fire and turning over uncomfortable 
thoughts, when I was accosted by some one wlio 
had entered the room without my perceiving it. 
I looked up, and saw before me a tall and, as I 
thought, pompous-looking man, arrayed in small- 
clothes and knee-buckles, with powdered head, 
and shoes nicely blacked and polished ; a style of 
dress unparalleled in those days in that rough 
country. I took a pique against him from the 
very portliness of his appearance and stateliness 
of his manner, and bristled up as he accosted 
me. He demanded if my name v/as not Ring- 
wood. 

" I was stai-tled, for I supposed myself perfectly 
incog. ; but I answered in the affirmative. 

" ' Your family, I believe, lives in Richmond.' 

" My gorge began to rise. ' Yes, sir,' replied 
I, sulkily, 'my family does live in Richmond.' 

" ' And what, may I ask, has brought you into 
this part of the country?' 

" ' Zounds, sir ! ' cried I, starting on my feet, 



314 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

' what business is it of yours ? How dare you to 
question me in this manner ? ' 

" Tlie entrance of some persons prevented a 
I'eply ; but I walked up and down the bar-room, 
fuming with conscious independence and insulted 
dignity, while the pompous looking personage, who 
had thus trespassed upon my spleen, retired with- 
out proffering another word. 

" The next day, while seated in my room, some 
one tapped at the door, and, on being bid to enter, 
the stranger in the powdered head, small-clothes, 
and shining shoes and buckles, walked in with 
ceremonious courtesy. 

" My boyish pride was again in arms, but he sub- 
dued me. He was formal, but kind and friendly. 
He knew my family and understood my situation, 
and the dogged struggle 1 was making. A little 
conversation, when my jealous prid-e was once put 
to rest, drew everything fi-om me. He was a 
lawyer of experience and of extensive practice, 
and offered at once to take me with him and direct 
my studies. The offer was too advantageous and 
gratifying not to be immediately accepted. From 
that time I began to look up. I was put into a 
proper track, and was enabled to study to a proper 
purpose. I made acquaintance, too, with some 
of the young men of the place who were in the 
same pursuit, and was encouraged at finding that 
I could ' hold my own ' in argument with them. 
We instituted a debating-club, in which I soon 
became prominent and popular. Men of talents, 
engaged in other pursuits, joined it, and this diver- 
sified our subjects and put me on various tracks 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 315 

of inquiry. Ladies, too, attended some of our 
discussions, and this gave them a polite tone and 
had an influence on the manners of the debators. 
My legal patron also may have had a favorable 
effect in correcting any roughness contracted in 
my hunter's life. He was calculated to bend me 
in an opposite direction, for he was of the old 
school ; quoted ' Chesterfield ' on all occasions, and 
talked of Sir Charles Grandison, who was his 
heau ideal. It was Sir Charles Grandison, how- 
ever, Kentuckyized. 

" I had always been fond of female society. 
My experience, however, had hitherto been among 
the rough daughters of the backwoodsmen, and 
I felt an awe of young ladies in ' store clothes,' 
delicately brought up. Two or three of the mar- 
ried ladies of Bardstown, who had heard me at 
the debating-club, determined that I was a genius, 
and undeitook to bring me out. I believe I really 
improved under their hands, became quiet where 
I had been shy or sulky, and easy where I had 
been impudent. 

I called to take tea one evening with one of 
these ladies, when to my surprise, and somewhat 
to my confusion, I found with her the identical 
blue-eyed little beauty whom I had so audaciously 
kissed. I was formally introduced to her, but 
neither of us betrayed any sign of previous ac- 
quaintance, except by blushing to the eyes. While 
tea was getting ready, the lady of the house went 
out of the room to give some directions, and left 
us alone. 

" Heavens and earth, what a situation ! I 



316 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

would have given all the pittance I was worth.i 
to have been in the deepest dell of the forest. I] 
felt the necessity of saying something in excuset 
of my former rudeness, but I could not conjurei 
up an idea, nor utter a word. Every momenti 
matters were srowino; worse. I felt at one timei 
tempted to do as I liad done when I robbed her 
of the kiss, — bolt from the room, and take tci 
flight ; but I was chained to the spot, for I really\ 
longed to gain her good will. 

" At length I plucked up courage, on seeing 
that she was equally confused with myself, and 
walking desperately up to her, I exclaimed : 

" ' I .have been trying to muster up something. 
to say to you, but I cannot. I feel that I am in 
a horrible scrape. Do have pity on me, and hel{:| 
me out of it ! ' 

" A smile dimpled about her mouth, and played 
among the bluslies of her cheek. She looked \i\\ 
with a shy but arch glance of the eye, that ex-. 
pressed a volume of comic recollection ; we botlil 
broke into a laugh, and from that moment all went 
on well. 

" A few evenings afterward I met her at a 
dance, and prosecuted the acquaintance. I sooni 
became deeply attached to her, paid my courl 
regularly, and before I was nineteen years of 
age had engaged myself to marry her. I spokc' 
to her mother, a widow lady, to ask her consent! 
She seemed to demur ; upon which, with my cus- 
tomary haste, I told her there would be no usei 
in opposing the match, for if her daughter cliostf 
to have me, I would take her, in defiance of hei 
family and the whole world. 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 317 

" vShe laii.iihed, and told me I need not give 
myself any nneasiness ; there would be no unrea- 
sonable op{)osition. Slie knew my family, and all 
about me. Tiie only obstacle was, that I had no 
means of" supporting a wife, and she had nothing 
to give with her daughter. 

" No matter ; at that moment everything was 
bnght before me. I was in one of my sanguine 
moods. I feared nothing, doubted nothing. So 
it was agreed that I should prosecute my studies. 
oi)tain a license, and as soon as I should be fairly 
launched in business, we would be married. 

" I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled 
ardor, and was up to my ears in law, when I re- 
ceived a letter from my father, who had heard of 
me and my whereabouts. He applauded the 
course I had taken, but advised me to lay a foun- 
dation of general knowledge, and offered to defray 
my expenses if I would go to college. I felt the 
want of a general education, and was , staggered 
with this offer. It militated somewhat against 
the self-dependent course I had so proudly, or 
rather conceitedly, marked out for myself, but it 
would enable me to enter more advantageously 
ui)on my legal career. I talked over the matter 
with the lovely girl to whom I was engaged. 
She sided in opinion with my father, and talked 
so disinterestedly, yet tenderly, that if possible, 
I loved her more than ever. I reluctantly, there- 
fore, agreed to go to college for a couple of years, 
*hough it must necessarily postpone our union. 

" Scarcely had I formed this resolution, when 
her mother was taken ill, and died, leaving her 



318 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 

without a protector. This again altered al] my 
plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I gave 
up all idea of collegiate studies ; persuaded my- 
self that by dint of industry and application I 
might overcome the deficiencies of education, and 
resolved to take out a license as soon as possible. 

" That very autumn I was admitted to the bar, 
and within a month afterward was married. We 
were a young couple, — ■ she not much above six- 
teen, I not quite twenty, — and both almost with- 
out a dollar in the world. The establishment 
which we set up was suited to our circumstances : 
a log-house, with two small rooms ; a bed, a tcible, 
a half-dozen cliairs, a half-dozen knives and forks, 
a half-dozen spoons ; everything by half-dozens ; 
a little Delft ware ; everything in a small way : 
we were so poor, but then so happy ! 

" We had not been married many days when 
court was held at a county town, about twenty- 
five miles, distant. It was necesssry for rae to go 
there, and put myself in the way of business ; 
but how was I to go ? I had expended all my 
means on our establishment ; and then, it was 
hard parting with my wife so soon after marriage. 
However, go I must. Money must be made, or 
we should soon have the wolf at the door. I .ac- 
cordingly borrowed a horse, and borrowed a little 
cash, and rode off from my door, leaving my wife 
standi no; at it, and wavinsj her hand after me. 
Her last look, so sweet and beaming, went to my 
heart. I felt as if I could go through fire and i 
water for her. 

" I arrived at the county town on a cool Octo- 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 319 

ber evening. The inn was crowded, for the court 
was to commence on the following day. I knew 
no one, and wondered how I, a stranger and a 
mere youngster, was to make my way in such a 
crowd, and to get business. The public room was 
thronged with the idlers of the country, who gather 
together on such occasions. There was some 
drinking going forward, with much noise, and a 
little altercation. Just as I entered the room, I 
saw a rough bully of a fellow, who was partly 
intoxicated, strike an old man. He came swag- 
gering by me, and elbowed me as he passed. I 
immediately knocked him down, and kicked him 
into the street. I needed no better introduction. 
In a moment I had a dozen rough shakes of the 
hand and invitations to drink, and found myself 
quite a personage in this rough assembly. 

" The next morning the court opened. I took 
my seat among the lawyers, but felt as a mere 
spectator, not having a suit in progress or pros- 
pect, nor having any idea where business was to 
come from. In -the course of the morning, a man 
was put at the bar charged with passing counter- 
feit money, and was asked if he was ready for 
trial. He answered in the negative. He had 
been confined in a place where there were no 
lawyers, and had not had an opportunity of con- 
sulting any. He was told to choose counsel from 
tlie lawyers present, and to be ready for trial on 
the following day. He looked round the court, 
and selected me. I was thunderstruck. I could 
not tell why he should make such a choice. I, 
H beardless youngster, unpractised at the bar, 



320 EXPERff.NCES OF RALPH RIXGWOOD. 

perfectly unknown. 1 felt diffident yet delighted, 
and could have hugged the rascal. 

" Before leaving the court, he gave me one 
hundred dollars in a bag, as a retaining fee. I 
could scarcely believe my senses ; it seemed like 
a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke but 
lightly in favor of his innocence, but that was no 
affair of mine. I was to be advocate, not judge, 
nor jury. I followed him to jail, and learned 
from him all the particulars of his c-ase : thence 
I went to the clerk's office, and took minutes of 
the indictment. I then examined the law on the 
subject, and prepared my brief in my room. All 
this occupied me until midnight, when I went to 
bed, and tried to sleep. It was all in vain. Never 
in my life was I more wide awake. A host of 
thoughts and fancies kept rushing through my 
mind ; the shower of gold that had so unexpect- 
edly fallen into my lap ; the idea of my poor little 
wife at home, that I was to astonish with my 
good fortune ! But then the awful responsibility 
I had undertaken ! — to speak for the first time 
in a strange court ; the expectations the culprit 
liad evidently formed of my talents ; all these, 
and a crowd of similar notions, kept whirling 
through my mind. I tossed about all night, fear- 
ing the morning would find me exhausted and in- 
competent ; in a word, the day dawned on me, a 
miserable fellow ! 

" I got up feverish and nervous. I walked out 
before breakfast, striving to collect my thoughts, 
and tranquillize my feelings. It vras a bright 
morning ; the air was pure and frosty. I bathed 



EXFJiUlENCES OF RALPH RLXUWOOD. ali 

my foreliead and my hands in a beautiful running 
stream ; but I could not allay the fever heat that 
raged within. I returned to breakfast, but could 
not eat. A single cup of coffee formed my repast. 
It was time to go to court, and I went there with 
a throbbing heart. I believe if it had not been 
for the tlioughts of my little wife, in her lonely 
log-liouse, I should have given back to the man 
his hundred dollars, and relinquished the cause. 
I took my seat, looking, I am convinced, more 
like a cidprit than the rogue T was to defend. 

" Wlien the time came for me to speak, my 
heart died within me. I rose embarrassed and 
dismayed, and stammered in opening my cause. 
I went on from bad to worse, and felt as if I was 
going down liill. Just then the public prosecutor, 
a man of talents, but somewhat rough in his prac- 
tice, made a sarcastic remark on something I had 
said. It was like an electric spark, and ran tingling 
through every vein in my body. In an instant 
my diffidence was gone. My whole spirit was in 
arms. I answered with promptness and bitter- 
ness, for I telt the cruelty of such an attack upon 
a novice in my situation. The public prosecutor 
made a kind of apology ; tliis, from a man of his 
redoubted powers, was a vast concession. I re- 
newed my argument with a fearless glow ; car- 
ried the case through triumphantly, and the man 
was acquitted. 

" This was the making of me. Everybody was 

curious to know who this new lawyer was, that 

had thus suddenly risen among them, and bearded 

the attorney-general at the very outset. The 

21 



322 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 

Btory of my debut at the inn, on the preceding 
evening, when I had knocked down a bully, and 
kicked him out of doors, for striking an old man, 
was circulated, with favorable exaocg-erations. 
Even my very beardless chin and juvenile coun- 
tenance were in ray favor, for people gave me far 
more credit than I really deserved. The chance 
business which occurs in our country courts came 
thronging upon me. I was repeatedly employed 
in other causes ; and by Saturday night, when tlie 
coiu't closed, and I had paid my bill at the inn, I 
found myself with a hundred and fifty dollars in 
silver, tliree hundred dollars in notes, and a horse 
that I afterward sold for two hundred dollars 
more. 

" Never did miser gloat on his money with 
more delight. 1 locked the door of ray room, 
piled the money in a heap upon the table, walked 
round it, sat willi my elbows on the table and 
my chin upon my hands, and gazed upon it. Was 
I thinking of the money ? No ! I was thinking 
of my little wife at home. Anotlier sleepless 
night ensued ; but what a night of golden fancies 
and splendid air-castles ! As soon as monn'ng 
dawned, I was up, mounted the borrowed horse 
with which I had come to coui't, and led ihe other, 
which I had received as a fee. All the way I 
\vas delighting myself with the thoughts of the 
surprise I had in store for my little wife ; for 
both of us had expected nothing but that I should 
spend all the money I had borrowed, and should 
return in debt. 

" Our meeting was joyous, as you may suppose ; 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 328 

but I played the part of the Indian hunter, who, 
when he returns fi-om the chase, never for a thue 
speaks of his success. She had prepared a snug 
little rustic meal for me, and while it was getting 
ready, I seated myself at an old-fashioned desk 
in one corner, and began to count over my money 
and put it away. She came to me before I had 
finished, and asked who I had collected the money 
for. 

" ' For myself, to be sure,' replied I, with af- 
facted coolness ; ' I made it at court.' 

" She looked me for a moment in the face, in- 
credulously, r tried to keep my countenance, and 
to play Indian, but it would not do. My muscles 
began to twitch ; my feelings all at once gave 
way. I caught her in my arms ; laughed, cried, 
and danced about the room, like a crazy man. 
From that time forward, we never wanted for 
money. 

" I had not been long in successful practice, 
when I was surprised one day by a visit from my 
woodland patron, old Miller. The tidings of my 
prosperity had reached him in the wilderness, and 
he had walked one hundred and fifty miles on foot 
to see me. By that time I had improved my do- 
mestic establishment, and had all things comfort- 
able about me. He looked around him with a 
wondering eye, at what he considered luxuries 
and superfluities ; but supposed they were all 
right, in my altered circumstances. He said he 
did not know, upon the whole, but that I acted 
for the best. It is true, if game had continued 
plenty, it would have been a folly for me to quit 



324 EXPERIENCES OF RALPP RIXGWOOD. 

a hunter's life ; but hunting was pretty nigh done 
up in Kentucky. The buffalo had gone to Mis- 
souri ; the elk were nearly gone also ; deer, too, 
were growing scarce ; they might last out his 
time, as he was growing old, but they were not 
worth setting up life upon. He had once lived 
on the borders of Virginia. Game grew scarce 
there ; he followed it up across Kentucky, and 
now it was again giving him the slip ; but he was 
too old to follow it farther. 

" He remained with us tliree days. My wife 
did everything in her power to make him com- 
fortable ; but at the end of that time he said he 
imist be off again to the woods. He was tired 
of the village, and of having so many people 
about him. He accordingly returned to the wil- 
derness, and to hunting life. But I fear he did 
not make a good end of it ; for I understand that 
a few years before his death, he married Sukey 
Thomas, who lived at the White Oak Run." 






THE SEMINOLES. 

|ROM the time of the chimerical cruisings 
of Old Ponce de Leon in search of the 

Fountain of Youth ; the avaricious ex- 
pedition of Pamphilo de Narvaez in quest of gold ; 
and tlie chivah-ous enterprise of Hernando do 
Soto, to discover and conquer a second Mexico, 
the natives of Florida have been continually sub- 
jected to the invasions and encroachments of white 
men. They )iave resisted them perseveringly but 
fi-uitlessly, and are now battling amidst swamps 
and morasses, for the last foothold of their native 
soil, with all the ferocity of despair. Can we 
wonder at tlie bitterness of a hostility that lias 
been handed down from father to son for upvvtird 
of three centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs 
and miseries of each succeeding generation ! The 
very name of the savages with whom we are 
fighting, betokens their fallen and homeless con- 
dition. Formed of the wrecks of once powerful 
tribes, and driven from their ancient seats of pros- 
perity and dominion, they are known by the name 
of the Seminoles, or " Wanderers." 

Bartram, who travelled through Florida in the 
latter part of the last century, speaks of passing 



326 THE SEMINOLES. 

through a great extent of ancient Indian fields, 
now silent and deserted, ovei'grown with forests, 
orange groves, and rank vegetation, the sight of 
the ancient Alachua, the capital of a famous and 
powerful tribe, who in days of old could assemble 
thousands at bull-play and other athletic exercises 
" over these then happy fields and green plains." 
" Almost every step we take," adds he, " over 
these fertile heights, discovers the remains and 
traces of ancient human habitations and cultiva- 
tion." 

We are told that about the year 1763, when 
Florida was ceded by the Spaniards to the Eng- 
lish, the Indians generally retired from the towns 
and the neighborhood of the whites, and burying 
themselves in the deep forests, intricate swamps 
and hommocks, and vast savannahs of the interior, 
devoted themselves to a pastoral life, and the rear- 
ing of horses and cattle. These are the people 
that received the name of the Seminoles, or Wan- 
derers, which they still retain. 

Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at 
the time he visited them in tlieir wilderness, 
where their distance from the abodes of the white 
man gave them a transient quiet and security, 
" This handful of people," says he, " possesses a 
vast territory, all East and the greatest part of 
West Florida, which being naturally cut and di- 
vided into thousands of islets, knolls, and emi- 
nences, by the innumerable rivers, lakes, swamps, 
vast savannahs, and ponds, form so many secure 
retreats and temporary dwelling-places that effec- 
tually guard them from any sudden invasions or 



THE SEMINOLES. 327 

attacks from tlieir enemies ; and being such a 
swampy, liommoeky country, furnishes such a 
plenty and variety of supplies for the nourishment 
of varieties of animals, that I can venture to as- 
sert, that no part of the globe so abounds with 
wild game, or creatures fit for the food of man. 

" Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the 
necessaries and conveniences of life, with the se- 
curity of person and property, the two great con- 
cerns of mankind. The hides of deer, bears, 
tigers, and wolves, together with honey, wax, and 
other productions of the country, purchase their 
clothing equipage and domestic utensils from the 
whites. They seem to be free from want or de- 
sires. No cruel enemy to dread ; nothing to give 
them disquietude, hut the gradual encroachments 
of the white people. Thus contented and undis- 
turbed, they appear as blithe and free as the birds 
of the air, and like them as volatile and active, 
tuneful and vociferous. The visage, action, and 
depoi-tment of the vSeminoles form the most strik- 
ing picture of happiness in this life ; joy, content- 
ment, love, and friendship, without guile or affec- 
tation, seem inherent in them, or predominant in 
their vital principle, for it leaves them with but the 
last breath of life. . . . They are fond of games 
and iramblino;, and amuse themselves like childi-en, 
in relating extravagant stories, to cause surprise 
and mirth." "* 

The same writer gives an engaging picture of 
his treatment by these savages : 

" Soon after entering the forests, we were met 
* Bartram's Travels in North America. 



328 THE skm/nol;..<. 



in the path by a small company of Indians, smil- 
ing and beckoning to us long before we joined 
them. This was a family of Talahasochte, who 
had been out on a hunt and were returning home 
loaded with barbacued meat, hides, and honey. 
Their company consisted of the man, his wife and 
children, well mounted on fine horses, with a num- 
ber of pack-horses. The man offered us a fawn- 
skin of honey, which I accepted, and at parting 
presented him with some fish-hooks, sewing-nee- 
dles, etc. 

" On our return to camp in the evening, we 
were saluted by a party of young Indian war- 
riors, who had pitched their tents on a green emi- 
nence near the lake, at a small distance from our 
camp, luider a little grove of oaks and palms. 
This company consisted of seven young Seminoles, 
under the conduct of a yoimg prince or chief of 
Talahasochte, a town southward in the Isthmus. 
They were all dressed and painted with singular 
elegance, and richly ornamented with silver plates, 
chains, etc., after the Seminole mode, with wav- 
ing plumes of feathers on their crests. On our 
coming up to them, they arose and shook hands ; 
we alighted, and sat a while with them by their 
cheerful fire. 

" The young prince informed our chief that he 
was in pursuit of a young fellow who had fled 
from the town, carrying off with him one of his 
favorite young wives. He said, merrily, he would 
have the ears of both of them before he returned. 
He was rather above the middle stature, and the 
most perfect human figure I ever saw ; of an 



THE SEMIXOLES. 329 

amiable, engaging countenance, air, and deport- 
ment ; free and fomiliar in conversation, yet re- 
tainijig a becoming gracefubiess and dignity. We 
arose, took leave of them, and crossed a little vale, 
covered with a charming green turf, already illu- 
niinated by the soft light of the full moon, 

'' Soon after joining our companions at camp, 
our neighbors, the prince and his associates, paid 
us a visit. We treated them with the best fare 
we had, having till this time preserved our spirit- 
uous liquors. They left us with perfect cordiality 
and cheerfulness, wishing us a good repose, and 
retired to their own camp. Having a band of 
music with them, consisting of a drum, flutes, and 
a rattle - gourd, they entertained us during the 
night with their music, vocal and instrumental. 

" There is a languishing softness and melan- 
choly air in the Indian convivial songs, especially 
of the amorous class, irresistibly moving attention, 
and exquisitely pleasing, especitdly in their soli- 
tary recesses, when all Nature is silent." 

Travellers who have been among them, in more 
recent times, before they had embarked in their 
present despei-ate struggle, represent them in much 
the same light ; as leading a pleasant, indolent life, 
in a climate that required little shelter or clothing, 
and where the spontaneous fruits of the earth fur- 
nished subsistence without toil. A cleanly race, 
delighting in bathing, passing much of their time 
under the shade of their ti-ees, with heaps of 
oranges and other fine fruits for their refreshment ; 
talking, laughing, dancing, and sleeping. Every 
chief had a fan hang-ins: to his side, made of 



S30 THE SEMINOLKS. 

feathers of the wild turkey, the beautiful pit\k-' 
colored crane, or the scarlet flamingo. With thisf 
he would sit and fan himself with great stateli- 
ness, while the young people danced before him. , 
The women joined in the dances with the men, 
3xcepting the war-dances. They wore strings of 
tortoise-shells and pebbles round their legs, which 
rattled in cadence to the music. They were 
treated with more attention among the Seminoles 
than among: most Indian tribes. 



ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE 
BLACK MEN. 

A SEMINOLE TRADITION. 

When the Floridas were erected into a terri- 
tory of the United States, one of the earliest 
cares of the Governor, William P. Duval, was 
directed to the instruction and civilization of the 
natives. For this purpose he called a meeting of 
the chiefs, in which he informed them of the wish 
of their Great Father at Washington that they 
should have schools and teachers among them, and 
that their children should be instructed like the 
children of white men. The chiefs listened with 
their customary silence and decorum to a long 
speech, setting forth the advantages that would 
accrue to them from this measure, and when he 
had concluded, begged the interval of a day to 
deliberate on it. 

On the following day, a solemn convocation 



WlUTi:, RED, AND BLACK MEN. 331 

was he>l. at wliich one of the chiefs addressed 
the Governor in the name of all the rest. "My 
brother," said he, " we have been thinking over 
the proposition of our Great Father at Washing- 
ton, to send teachers and set up schools among us. 
We are very thankful for the interest he takes in 
our welfare ; but after much deliberation have con- 
cluded to decline his offer. What will do very 
well for white men, will not do for red men. I 
know you white men say we all come from the 
same father and mother, but you are mistaken. 
We have a tradition handed down from our fore- 
fathers, and we believe it, that the Great Spirit, 
wlien he undertook to make men, made the black 
man ; it was his first attempt, and pretty well for 
a beginning ; but he soon saw he had bungled ; 
so he determined to try his hand again. He did 
so, and made the red man. He liked him much 
better than the black man, but still he was not 
exactly what he wanted. So he tried once more, 
and made the white man ; and then he was satis- 
fied. You see, therefore, that you w^ere made 
last, and that is the reason I call you my youngest 
brother. 

•' When the Great Spirit had made the three 
men, he called them together and showed them 
three boxes. The first was filled with books, and 
maps, and papers ; the second with bows and 
arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third with 
spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. ' These, my 
sons,' said he, ' are the means by which you are 
to live ; choose among them according to your 
fancy.' 



332 THE SEMJNOLF.S. 

" The vvhite man, being the favorite, had the 
first choice. He passed by the box of working- 
tools without notice ; but when he came to the 
weapons for war and hunting, he stopped and 
looked hard at them. The red man trembled, 
for he had set his heart upon that box. Tlie 
white man, however, after looking upon it for a 
moment, passed on, and chose the box of books 
and papers. The red man's turn came next, and 
you may be sure he seized with joy upon the 
bows and arrows and tomahawks. As to the 
black man, he had no choice left, but to put up 
with the box of tools. 

" From this it is clear that the Great Spirit 
intended the white man should learn to read and 
write, to understand all about the moon and 
stars, and to make everything, even rum and 
whiskey. That the red man should be a first- 
rate hunter, and a mighty warrior, but he was 
not to learn anything from books, as the Great 
Spirit had not given him any ; nor was he to 
make rum and whiskey, lest he should kill himself 
with drinking. As to the black man, as he had 
nothing but working- tools, it was clear he was to 
work for the white and red man, which he has 
continued to do. 

" We must go according to the wishes of the 
Great Spirit, or we shall get into trouble. To 
know how to read and write is very good for 
white men, but very bad for red men. It makes 
white men better, but red men worse. Some of 
the Creeks and Cherokees learnt to read and write, 
and they are the greatest rascals among all the 



CONSPIRACY or NEAMATilLA. ooo 

Indians. They went on to Washington, and said 
they were going to see their Great Fatiier, to talk 
about the good of the nation. And when they got 
there, they all wrote upon a little piece of paper, 
without the nation at home knowing anything 
about it. And the first thing the nation at home 
knew of the matter, they were called together by 
the Indian agent, who showed them a little piece 
of paper, which he told them was a treaty which 
their brethren had made in their name with their 
Great Father at Washington. And as they knew 
not what a treaty was, he held up the little piece 
of paper, and they looked under it, and lo ! it 
covered a great extent of country, and they found 
that their brethren, by knowing how to read and 
write, had sold their houses, and their lands, and 
the graves of their fathers ; and that the white 
man, by knowing how to read and write, had 
gained them. Tell our Great Father at Wash- 
ington, therefore, that we are very sorry we can- 
not receive teachers among us ; for reading and 
writing, though very good for white men, is very 
bad for Indians." 



THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 

AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH. 

In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and 
other commissioners on the part of the United 
States, concluded a treaty with the chiefs and 
warriors of the Florida Indians, by which the 



334 THE SE MINGLES. 

latter, for certain considerations, ceded all claims 
to the whole territory, excepting a district in the 
eastern part, to which they were to remove, and 
within which they were to reside for twenty 
years. Several of the chiefs signed the ti-eaty 
with great reluctance ; but none opposed it more 
strongly than Neamathla, principal chief of the 
Mickasookies, a fierce and warlike people, many 
of them Creeks by origin, who lived about the 
Mickasookie lake. Neamathla had always been 
active in those depredations on the frontiers of 
Georgia, which had brought vengeance and ruin 
on the Seminoles. He was a remarkable man ; 
upward of sixty years of age, about six feet high, 
with a fine eye, and a strongly marked counte- 
nance, over which he possessed great command. 
His hatred of the white men appeared to be 
mixed with contempt ; on the common people he 
looked down with infinite scorn. He seemed 
unwilling to acknowledge any superiority of rank 
or dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to asso- 
ciate with him on terms of equality, as two great 
chieftains. Though he had been prevailed upon 
to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. In 
one of his frank conversations with Governor 
Duval, he observed : " This country belongs to 
the red man ; and if I had the number of war- 
riors at my command that this nation once had, I 
would not leave a white man on my lands. I 
would exterminate the whole. I can say this to 
you, for you can understand me ; you are a man ; 
but I would not say it to your people. They 'd 
cry out I was a savage, and would take my life. 



CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 335 

They cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that 
loves his country." 

As Plorida had but recently been erected into 
a territory, everything as yet was in rude and 
simple style. The Governor, to make himseh' 
acquainted with the Indians, and to be near a- 
hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed his resi 
dence at Tallahassee, near the Fowel towns, in 
habited by the Mickasookies. His government 
palace for a time was a mere log-house, and he 
lived on hunters' fare. The village of Neamathla 
was but about three miles off, anel thither the 
Governor occasionally rode, to visit the old chief- 
tain. In one of these visits he found Neamathla 
seated in his wigwam, in the centre of the village, 
surrounded by his warriors. The Governor had 
brought him some liquor as a present, but it 
mounted quickly into his brain, and rendered him 
quite boastful and belligerent. The theme ever 
uppermost in his mind was the treaty with the 
wiiites. " It was true," he said, " the red men 
had made such a treaty, but the white men had 
not acted up to it. The red men had received 
none of the money and the cattle that had been 
promised them ; the treaty, therefore, was at an 
end, and they did not mean to be bound by it." 

Governor Duval calmly represented to him 
tliat the time appointed in the treaty for the pay- 
ment and delivery of the money and the cattle 
had not yet arrived. This the old chieftain knew 
full well, but he chose, for the moment, to pre- 
tend ignorance. He kept on drinking and talking, 
his voice growing louder and louder, until it re- 



336 THE SKMINOLi:S. 

sounded all over the village. He held in his hand 
a long knife, with which he had been rasping to- 
bacco ; this he kept floiu'ishing backward and for- 
ward, as he talked, by way of giving effect to his 
words, brandishing it at times within an inch of 
the Governor's throat. He concluded his tirade 
by repeating that the country belonged to the red 
men, and that sooner than give it up, his bones 
and the bones of his people should bleach upon 
its soil. 

Duval knew that the object of all this bluster 
was to see whether he could be intimidated. He 
kept his eye, therefore, fixed steadily on the chief, 
and the moment he concluded witli his menace, 
seized him by the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and 
clenching his other fist ; 

" I 've heard what you have said," replied he. 
" You have made a treaty, yet you say your bones 
shall bleacli before you comply with it. As sure 
as there is a sun in heaven, your bones shall bleach 
if you do not fulfil every article of that treaty ! 
I '11 let you know that I am Jirst here, and will 
see that you do your duty ! " 

Upon this the old chieftain threw himself back, 
burst into a fit of laughing, and declared that all 
he had said was in joke. The Governor suspected, 
however, that there was a grave meaning at the 
bottom of this jocularity. 

For two months everything went on smoothly ; 
the Indians repaired daily to the log-cabin palace 
of the Governor at Tallahassee, and appeared 
perfectly contented. All at once they ceased their 
visits, and for three or four days not one was to 



CONSPIRACY OF NKAMATHLA. 337 

be seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend 
that some mischief was brewing. On the evening 
of the fourtli day, a chief named Yellow-Hair, a 
resolute, intelligent fellow, who had always evinced 
an attachment for the Governor, entered his cabin 
about twelve o'clock at night, and informed him, 
that between four and five hundred warriors, 
painted and decorated, were assembled to hold a 
secret war-talk at Neamathla's town. He had 
slipped off to give intelligence, at the risk of his 
life, and hastened back lest his absence should be 
discovered. 

Governor Duval passed an anxious night after 
this intelligence. He knew the talent and the 
daring character of Neamathla ; he recollected the 
threats he had thrown out ; he reflected that about 
eighty white families were scattered widely apart 
over a great extent of country, and might be swept 
away at once, should the Indians, as he feared, de- 
termine to clear the country. That he did not 
exaggerate the dangers of the case, has been 
proved by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare 
which have since desolated that devoted region. 
After a night of sleepless cogitation, Duval de- 
termined on a measure suited to his prompt and 
resolute character. Knowing the admiration of 
the savages for personal courage, he determined, 
by a sudden surprise, to endeavor to overawe and 
check tiiem. It was hazarding much ; but where 
so many lives were in jeopardy, he felt bound to 
incur the hazard. 

Accordingly, on the next morning he set off 
on liorseback, attended merely by a white man 
22 



338 THE SEMINOLES. 

who had been reared among the Serainoles, and 
understood their language and manners, and who 
acted as interpreter. They struck into an Indian 
" trail," leading to Neamathla's village. After 
proceeding about half a mile, Governor Duval 
informed the interpieter of the object of his ex- 
pedition. The latter, though a bold man, paused 
and remonstrated. The Indians among whom 
they were going were among the most desperate 
and discontented of the nation. Many of them 
were veteran warriors, impoverished and exas- 
perated by defeat, and ready to set their lives al 
any hazard. He said that if they were holding 
a war-council, it must be with desperate intent, 
and it would be certain death to intrude among 
them. 

Duval made light of his apprehensions ; he said 
he was perfectly well acquainted with the Indian 
character, and should certainly proceed. So say- 
ing, he rode on. When within half a mile of 
the village, the interpreter addressed him again 
in such a tremulous tone, that Duval turned and 
looked him in the face. He was deadly pale, and 
once more urged the Governor to return, as they 
would certainly be massacred if they proceeded. 

Duval repeated his determination to go on, but 
advised the other to return, lest his pale face 
should betray fear to the Indians, and they might 
take advantage of it. The interpreter replied 
that he would rather die a thousand deaths than 
have it said he had deserted his leader when in 
peril. 

Duval then told him he must translate faith- 



COSSPJRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 33i) 

fully <all he should say to the Indians, without 
softening a word. The interpreter promised faith- 
fiilly to do so, adding that he well knew, when 
they were once in the town, nothing but boldness 
could save them. 

They now rode into the village and advanced 
to the council-house. This was rather a group 
of four houses, forming a square, in the centre of 
which was a great council-fire. The houses were 
open in front toward the fire, and closed in the 
rear. At each corner of the square there was an 
interval between the houses for ingress and egress. 
In these houses sat the old men and the chiefs ; 
the young men were gathered round the fire. 
Neamathla presided at the council, elevated on 
a higher seat than the rest. 

Governor Duval entered by one of the corner 
intervals, and rode boldly into the centre of the 
square. The young men made way for him ; an 
old man who was speaking, paused in the midst 
of his harangue. In an instant thirty or forty 
rifles were cocked and levelled. Never had Duval 
heard so loud a click of triggers ; it seemed to 
strike to his heart. He gave one glance at the 
Indians, and turned off with an air of contempt. 
He did not dare, he says, to look again, lest it 
might affect his nerves, and on the firmness of his 
nerves everything depended. 

The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were 
lowered. Duval breathed more freely ; he felt 
disposed to leap from his horse, but restrained him- 
self, and dismounted leisurely. He then walked 
deliberately up to Neamathla, and demanded, in 



340 THE SEMINOLES. 

an authoritative tone, what were his motives for 
holding that counciL The moment he made this 
demand, the orator sat down. The chief made 
no reply, but hung his head in apparent confusion. 
After a moment's pause, Duval proceeded : 

" I am well aware of the meaning of this war- 
council, and deem it my duty to warn you against 
prosecuting the schemes you have been devising. 
If a single hair of a white man in this country 
falls to the ground, I will hang you and your 
chiefs on the trees aroimd your council-house ! 
You cannot pretend to withstand the power of 
the white men. You are in the palm of the hand 
of your Great Father at Washington, who can 
crush you like an egg-shell ! You may kill me ; 
I am but one man ; but recollect, white men are 
numerous as the leaves on the trees. Remember 
the fate of your warriors whose bones are whiten- 
ing in battlefields. Remember your wives and 
children who perished in swamps. Do you want 
to provoke more hostilities ? Another war with 
the white men, and there will not be a Seminole 
left to tell the story of his race." 

Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded 
by appointing a day for the Indians to meet liira 
at- St. Marks and give an account of their con- 
duct. He then rode off, without giving them time 
to recover from their surprise. That night he 
rode forty miles to Apalachicola River, to the 
tribe of the same name, who were in feud with 
the Seminoles. They promptly put two hundred 
and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he ordered 
to be at St. Marks at the appointed day. He sent 



CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 841 

out runners also, and mustered one hundred of 
the mihtia to repair to the same place, together 
with a number of regulars from the army. All 
his arrangements were successful. 

Having taken these measures, he returned to 
Tallahassee, to the neighborhood of the conspira- 
tors, to show them that he was not afraid. Here 
lie ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that nine 
towns were disaffected, and had been concerned 
in the conspiracy. He was careful to inform him- 
self, from the same source, of the names of the 
warriors in each of those towns who were most 
popular, though poor and destitute of rank and 
command. 

When the appointed day was at hand for the 
meeting at St. Marks, Governor Duval set off 
with Neamathla, who was at the head of eight or 
nine hundred warriors, but who feared to venture 
into the fort without him. As they entered the 
tort, and saw troops and militia drawn up there, 
and a force of Apalachicola soldiers stationed on 
the opposite bank of the river, they thought they 
were betrayed, and were about to fly, but Duval 
assured them they were safe, and that when the 
talk was over they might go home unmolested. 

A grand talk was now held, in which the late 
conspiracy was discussed. As he had foreseen, 
Neamathla and the other old chiefs threw all the 
blame upon the young men. " Well," replied 
Duval, " with us white men, when we find a man 
incompetent to govern those under him, we put 
him down and appoint another in his place. Now, 
HS you all acknowledge you cannot manage your 



342 THE SEMINOLES. 

young men, we must put chiefs over them who\ 
can." 

So saying, he deposed Neamathla first, appoint- ■ 
ing another in his place ; and so on with all the 
rest, taking care to substitute the warriors who 
had been pointed out to him as poor and popular ; 
putting medals round their necks, and investing 
them with great ceremony. The Indians were sur- 
prised and delighted at finding the appointments 
fall upon the very men they would themselves 
have chosen, and hailed them with acclamations. 
The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to com- 
mand, and clothed with dignity, were secured to 
the interests of the Governor, and sure to keep 
an eye on the disaffected. As to the great chief 
Neamathla, he left the country in disgust, and 
returned to the Creek Nation, who elected him a 
chief of one of their towns. Thus by the resolute 
spirit and prompt sagacity of one man, a danger- 
ous conspiracy was completely defeated. Gov- 
ernor Duval was afterwards enabled to remove the 
whole nation, through his own personal influence, 
without the aid of the General Government. 

Note. — The foregoing anecdotes concerning 
the Seminoles were gathered in conversation 
with Governor Duval (the original of Ralph 
Ring wood). 



^^^fS^M^M 




THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

URING tlie minority of Louis XV., 
while the Duke of Orleans was Regent 
of France, a young Flemish nobleman, 
the Count Antoine Joseph Van Horn, made his 
sudden appearance in Paris, and by his character, 
conduct, and the subsequent disasters in which he 
became involved, created a great sensation in the 
high circles of the proud aristocracy. He was 
about tw^enty-two years of age, tall, finely formed, 
with a pale, romantic countenance, and eyes of 
remarkable brilliancy and wildness. 

He W'as of one of tlie most ancient and highly 
esteemed families of European nobility, being of 
the line of the Princes of Horn and Overique, 
sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and hereditary 
Grand Veneurs of the empire. 

The family took its name from the little town 
and seigneurie of Horn, in Brabant ; and was 
known as early as the eleventh century among 
the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and since 
that time, by a long line of illustrious generations. 
At the peace of Utrecht, when the Netherlands 
passed under subjection to Austria, the house of 
Van Horn came under the domination of the 
emperor. At the time we treat of, two of the 
branches of this ancient house were extinct ; the 



344 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

third and oidy surviving branch was represented 
by tho reigning prince, Maximilian Emanuel Van 
Horn, twenty-four years of age, who resided in 
honorable and courtly style on his hereditary do- 
mains at Baussigny, in the Netherlands, and his 
brother the Count Antoine Joseph, who is the 
subject of this memoir. 

The ancient house of Van Horn, by the inter- 
marriage of its various branches with the noble 
families of the Continent, had become widely con- 
nected and interwoven with the high aristocracy 
of Europe. The Count Antoine, therefore, could 
claim relationship to many of the proudest names 
in Paris. In fact, he was grandson, by the moth- 
er's side, of the Prince de Ligne, and even might 
boast of affinity to the Regent (the Duke of Or- 
leans) himself. There were circumstances, how- 
ever, connected with his sudden appearance in 
Paris, and his previous story, that placed him in 
what is termed " a false position ; " a word of 
baleful significance in the fashionable vocabulary 
of France. 

The young Count had been a captain in the 
service of Austria, but had been cashiered for ir- 
regular conduct, and for disrespect to Prince Louis 
of Baden, commander-in-chief. To check him in 
his wild career, and bring him to sober reflection, 
his brother the Prince caused him to be arrested, 
and sent to the old castle of Van Wert, in the 
domains of Horn. This was tlie same castle in 
which, in former times, John Van Horn, Stadt- 
holder of Gueldres, had imprisoned his father ; 
a circumstance which has furnished Rembrandt 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 345 

with the subject of an admirable painting. The 
governor of the castle was one Van Wert, grand- 
son of tlie famous John Van Wert, the hero of 
many a popular song and legend. It was the 
intention of the Prince that his brother should 
be iield in honorable durance, for his object was 
to sober and improve, not to punish and afflict 
him. Van Wert, however, was a stern, harsh 
man, of violent passions. He treated the youth 
in a manner that prisoners and offenders were 
treated in the strongholds of the robber counts 
of Germnny, in old times ; confined him in a dun- 
geon, and infiieted on him such hardships and in- 
dignities, that the irritable temperament of the 
young count was roused to continual fury, which 
ended in insanity. For six months was the un- 
fortunate youth kept in this horrible state, with- 
out his brother the Prince being informed of his 
melancholy condition, or of the cruel treatment 
to which he was subjected. At length, one day, 
in a paroxysm of frenzy, the Count knocked 
down two of his jailers with a beetle, escaped 
from the castle of Van Wert, and eluded all pur- 
suit ; and after roving about in a state of distrac- 
tion, made his way to Baussigny, and appeared 
like a spectre before his brother. 

The Prince was shocked at his wretched, ema- 
ciated appearance, and his lamentable state of 
mental alienation. He received him with the 
most compassionate tenderness ; lodged him in his 
own room ; appointed three servants to attend and 
watch over him day and night ; and endeavored, 
by the most sootliing and affectionate assiduity, tc 



34:6 THE COUNT VAN flORX. 

atone for the p;ist act of rigor with which he roj 
proached himself. Wiien he learned, however,! 
the manner in which his unfortunate brother had 
been treated in confinement, and the course oft 
brutalities that had led to his mental malady, het 
was aroused to indignation. His first step was 
to cashier Van Wert from his command. That 
violent man set the Prince at defiance, and at- 
tempted to maintain himself in his government 
and his castle, by instigating the peasants, for 
several leagues round, to revolt. His insurrec- 
tion might have been formidable against the power 
of a petty prince ; but he was put under the ban 
of the empire, and seized as a state prisoner. 
The memory of his grandfather, the oft-sung John 
Van Wert, alone saved him from a gibbet ; but 
he was imprisoned in the strong tower of Horn- 
op-Zee. There he remained until he was eighty- 
two years of age, savage, violent, and unconquered 
to the last ; for we are told that he never ceased 
fighting and thumping, as long as he could close 
a fist or wield a cudgel. 

In the mean time, a course of kind and gentle 
treatment and wholesome regimen, and, above all, 
the tender and affectionate assiduity of his brother, 
the Prince, produced the most salutary effects 
upon Count Antoine. He gradually recovered 
his reason ; but a degree of violence seemed al- 
ways lurking at the bottom of his character, and 
he required to be treated with the greatest cau- 
tion and mildness, for the least contradiction exas- 
perated him. 

in this state of mental convalescence, he began 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 347 

to find the supervision and restraints of brotherly 
affection insupportable ; so he left the Netlierlands 
furtively, and repaired to Paris, whither, in fact, 
it is said he was called by motives of interest, to 
make arrangements concerning a valuable estate 
which he inherited from his relative the Princess 
d'Epinay. 

On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the 
Marquis of Ci-equi, and other of the liigh nobility 
with whom he was connected. He was received 
with great courtesy ; but, as he brought no letters 
from his elder brotlier, the Prince, and as various 
circumstances of his previous history had tran- 
spired, they did not receive him into their fami- 
lies, nor introduce iiim to their ladies. Still they 
feted him in bachelor style, gave him gay and 
elegant suppers at their separate apartments, and 
took him to their boxes at the theatres. He was 
often noticed, too, at the doors of the most fash- 
ionable churches, taking his stand among the young 
men of fashion ; and at such times, his tall, ele- 
gant figure, his pale but handsome countenance, 
and his flashing eyes, distinguished him from 
among the crowd ; and the ladies declared that it 
was almost impossible to support his ardent gaze. 

The Count did not afflict himself much at his 
limited circulation in the fastidious circles of the 
high aristocracy. He relished society of a wilder 
and less ceremonious cast ; and meeting with 
loose companions to his taste, soon ran into all 
the excesses of tlie capital, in that most licentious 
period. It is said that, in the course of his wild 
career, he had an intrigue with a lady of quality, 



348 THE COUNT VAN HORN 

a favorite of the Regent, that he was surprised 
by that prince in one of his interviews, that 
sharp words passed between them ; and that the 
jealousy and vengeance thus awakened, ended 
only with liis Hfe. 

About this time, the famous Mississippi scheme 
of Law was ah its height, or rather it began to 
threaten that disastrous catastrophe which con- 
vulsed the whole financial world. Every effort 
was making to keep the bubble inflated. The 
vagrant population of France was swept off from 
the streets at night, and conveyed to Havre de 
Grace, to be shipped to the projected colonies ; 
even laboring people and mechanics were thus 
crimped and spirited away. As Qpunt Antoine 
was in tlie habit of sallying forth at night, in dis- 
guise, in pursuit of his pleasures, he came near 
being carried off by a gang of crimps ; it seemed, 
in fact, as if they had been lying in wait for him-, 
as he had experienced very rough treatment at 
their hands. Complaint was made of his case 
by his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who took 
much interest in the youth ; but the Marquis re- 
ceived mysterious intimations not to interfere in 
the matter, but to advise the Count to quit Paris 
immediately : " If he lingers, he is lost ! " This 
has been cited as a proof that vengeance was dog- 
ging at the heels of the unfortunate youth, and 
only watching for an opportunity to destroy him. 

Such opportunity occurred but too soon. Among 
the loose companions with whom the Count had 
become intimate, were two who lodged in the 
Bame hotel with him. One was a youth only 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 349 

twenty years of age, who passed himself off as 
tlie Chevaher d'Etampes, but whose real name 
was Lestang, the prodigal son of a Flemish 
banker. The other, named Laurent de Mille, a 
Piedmontese, was a cashiered captain, and at the 
time an esquire in the service of the dissolute 
Princess de Carignan, who kept gambling-tables in 
her palace. It is probable that gambling propen- 
sities had brought these young men together, and 
that their losses had driven them to desperate 
measures ; certain it is, that all Paris was sud- 
denly astounded by a murder which they were 
said to have committed. What made the crime 
more startliFig, was, that it seemed connected with 
the great Mississippi scheme, at that time the 
fruitful source of all kinds of panics and agita- 
tions, A Jew, a stock-broker, who dealt largely 
in shares of the bank of Law, founded on the 
Mississippi scheme, was the victim. The story 
of his death is variously related. The darkest 
account states, that the Jew was decoyed by these 
young men into an obscure tavern, under pretext 
of negotiating with him for bank shares, to the 
amount of one hundred thousand crowns, which 
he had with him in his pocket-book. Lestang 
kept watch upon the stairs. The Count and De 
Mille entered with the Jew into a chamber. In 
a little while there were heard cries and strug- 
gles from within. A waiter passing by the room, 
looked in, and seeing the Jew weltering in his 
blood, shut the door again, double-locked it, and 
alarmed the house. Lestang rushed down stairs, 
made his way to the hotel, secured his most port- 



350 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

able effects, and fled the country. The Count 
and De Mille endeavored to escape by the win- 
dow, but were both taken, and conducted to 
prison. 

A circumstance which occurs in this part of 
the Count's story, seems to point him out as a 
fated man. His mother, and his brother, the 
Prince Van Horn, had received intelligence some 
time before at Baussigny, of the dissolute life the 
Count was leading at Paris, and of his losses 
at play. They dispatched a gentleman of the 
Prince's household to Paris, to pay the debts of 
the Count, and persuade him to return to Flan- 
ders ; or, if he should refuse, to obtain an order 
tVom the Regent for him to quit the capital. Un- 
fortunately the gentleman did not arrive at Paris 
until the day after the murder. 

The news of the Count's arrest and imprison- 
ment, on a charge of murder, caused a violent 
sensation among the high aristocracy. All those 
connected with him, who had treated him hitherto 
with indifference, found their dignity deeply in- 
volved in the question of his guilt or innocence. 
A general convocation was held at the hotel of 
the Marquis de Crequi, of all the relatives and 
allies of the house of Horn. It was an assem- 
blage of the most proud and aristocratic person- 
ages of Paris. Inquiries were made into the 
circumstances of the affair. It was ascertained, 
beyond a doubt, that the Jew was dead, and that 
he had been killed by several stabs of a poniard. 
In escaping by the window, it was said that the 
Count had fallen, and been immediately taken ; 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 351 

3Ut that De Mille had fled thi'ough the streets, 
pursued by the populace, and had been arrested at 
some distance from the scene of the murder ; that 
the Count had declared himself innocent of the 
death of the Jew, and that he had risked his own 
life in endeavoring to protect him ; but that De 
INIilie, on being brought back to the tavern, con- 
fessed to a plot to murder the broker, and rob him 
of iiis pocket-book, and inculpated the Count in 
the crime. 

Another version of the story was, that the 
Count Van Horn had deposited with the broker 
bank shares to the amount of eighty-eight thou- 
sand livres ; that he had sought him in this tavern, 
wliich was one of his resorts, and had demanded 
the shares ; that the Jew had denied the deposit ; 
that a quarrel had ensued, in the course of which 
the Jew struck the Count in the face ; that the 
latter, transported with rage, had snatched up a 
knife from a table and wounded the Jew in the 
shoulder ; and that thereupon De Mille, who was 
present, and who had likewise been defrauded by 
the broker, fell on him, and despatched him with 
blows of a poniard, and seized upon his pocket- 
book ; that he had offered to divide the contents 
of the latter' with the Count, pro rata, of what 
the usurer had defrauded them ; that the latter 
iiad refused the proposition with disdain ; and 
tliat, at a noise of persons approaching, both had 
attempted to escape from the premises, but had 
been taken. 

Regard the story in any way they might, ap- 
pearances were terribly against the Count, and 



352 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

the noble n.ssemblage was in great consternatioiU 
What was to be done to ward off so foul a dis-^ 
grace and to save tlieir illustrious escutcheons; 
from this murderous stain of blood ? Their first! 
attempt was to prevent the affair from going to] 
trial, and their relative from being dragged before; 
a criminal tribunal, on so horrible and degrading 
a charge. They applied, therefore, to the Regent, 
to intervene his power, to treat the Count as 
having acted under an access of his mental mal- 
ady, and to shut him up in a madhouse. The 
Regent was deaf to their solicitations. He re- 
plied, coldly, that if the Count was a madman, 
one could not get rid too quickly of madmen who 
were furious in their insanity. The crime was 
too public and atrocious to be hushed up, or slurred 
over; justice must take its course. 

Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating 
scene of a public trial, the noble relatives of the 
Count endeavored to predispose the minds of the 
magistrates before whom he was to be arraigned. 
They accordingly made urgent and eloquent repre- 
sentations of the high descent, and noble and 
powerful connections of the Count ; set forth the 
circumstances of his early history, his mental 
malady, the nervous irritability to which he was 
subject, and his extreme sensitiveness to insult or 
contradiction. By these means they sought to 
prepare the judges to interpret everything in 
favor of the Count ; and, even if it should prove 
that he had inflicted the mortal blow on the 
usurer, to attribute it to access of insanity pro- 
voked by insult. 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 353 

To give full effect to these representations, the 
noble conclave determined to bring upon the 
judges the dazzling rays of the whole assembled 
aristocracy. Accordingly, on the day that the 
trial took place, the relations of the Count, to the 
number of fifty-seven persons, of both sexes and 
of the highest rank, repaired in a body to the 
Palace of Justice, and took their stations in a long 
corridor wliicli led to the court-room. Here, as the 
judges entered, they had to pass in review^ this ar- 
ray of lofty and noble personages, who saluted them 
mournfully and significantly as they passed. Any 
one conversant with the stately pride and jealous 
dignity of the French noblesse of that day, may 
imagine the extreme state of sensitiveness that 
produced this self-abasement. It was confidently 
presumed, however, by the noble suppliants, that 
having once brought themselves to this measure, 
their influence over the tribunal would be irre- 
sistible. There was one lady present, however, 
Madame de Beautfremont, who was affected with 
the Scottish gift of second sight, and related such 
dismal and sinister apparitions as passing before 
her eyes, that many of her female companions 
were filled with doleful presentiments. 

Unfortunately for the Count, there was another 
interest at work, more powerful even than the 
high aristocracy. The infamous but all-potent 
Abbe Dubois, the grand favorite and bosom coun- 
sellor of the Regent, was deeply interested in the 
scl^eme of Law and the prosperity of his bank, 
and of course in the security of the stock-brokers. 
Indeed, the Kegent himself is said to liiive dipped 
23 



354 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

deep in the Mississippi scheme. Dubois and 
Law, therefore, exerted their influence to the 
utmost to have the tragic affair pushed to the 
extremity of the law, and the murderer of the 
broker punished in the most signal and appalling 
manner. Certain it is, the trial was neither long 
nor intricate. The Count and his fellow-prisoner 
were equally inculpated in the crime, and both 
were condemned to a death the most horrible 
and ignominious — to be broken alive on the 
wheel ! 

As soon as the sentence of the court was made 
public, all the nobility, in any degree related to 
the house of Van Horn, went into mourning. 
Another grand aristocratical assemblage was held, 
and a petition to the Regent, on behalf of the 
Count, was drawn out and left with the Marquis 
de Crequi for signature. This petition set forth 
the previous insanity of the Count, and showed 
that it was an hereditary malady in his tamily. 
It stated various circumstances in mitigation of 
his offence, and implored that his sentence might 
be commuted to perpetual imprisonment. 

Upward of fifty names of the higliest nobility, 
beginning with the Prince de Ligne, and includ- 
ing cardinal-i, archbishops, dukes, marquises, etc., 
together with ladies of equal rank, were signed 
to this petition. By one of the caprices of human 
pride and vanity, it became an object of ambition 
to get enrolled among the illustrious suppliants ; 
a kind of testimonial of noble blood, to prove 
relationship to a murderer! The Marquis de 
Crequi was absolutely besieged by applicants to 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 355 

sign, and bad to refer their claims to this singular 
honor to the Pj'ince de Ligne, the grandfather of 
the Count. Many who were excluded were 
highly incensed, and numerous feuds took place. 
Nay, the affronts thus given to the morbid pride 
of some aristocratical families, passed from genera- 
tion to generation ; for, fifty years aft-erward, the 
Duchess of Mazarin complained of a slight which 
her father had received from the Marquis de 
Crequi, which proved to be something connected 
with the signature of tbis petition. 

This important document being completed, the 
illustrious body of petitioners, male and female, 
on Saturday evening, the eve of Palm Sunday, 
repaired to the Palais Royal, the residence of the 
Regent, and were ushered with great ceremony, 
but profound silence, into his hall of council. 
They liad appointed four of their number as 
deputies to present the petition, viz. : the Cardi- 
nal de Rohan, the Duke de Havre, tlie Prince de 
Ligne, and the Marquis de Crequi. After a 
little while, the deputies were summoned to the 
cabinet of the Regent. They entered, leaving 
the assembled petitioners in a state of the great- 
est anxiety. As time slowly wore away, and the 
evening advanced, the gloom of the company in- 
creased. Several of the ladies prayed devoutly ; 
the good Princess of Armagnac told her beads. 

The petition was received by the Regent with 
a most unpropitious aspect. " In asking the par- 
don of tlie criminal," said he, " yon display more 
sseal for the house of Van Horn than for the ser- 
vice of the king." Tlie noble deputies enforced 



356 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

the petition by every argument in their power 
They supplicated the Regent to consider that the 
infamous punishment in question would reach not 
mei'ely the person of the condemned, not merely 
the house of Van Horn, but also the genealogies 
of princely and illustrious families, in whose ar- 
morial bearings might be found quarterings of 
this dishonored name. 

" Gentlemen," replied the Regent, " it appears 
to me the disgrace consists in the crime, rather 
than in the punishment." 

The Prince de Ligne spoke with warmth : " I 
have in my genealogical standard," said he, " four 
escutcheons of Van Horn, and of course have 
four ancestors of that house. I must have them 
erased and effaced, and there would be so many 
blank spaces, like holes, in my heraldic ensigns. 
There is not a sovereign family which would not 
suffer through the rigor of your Royal Highness ; 
nay, all the world knows that in the thirty-two 
quarterings of Madame, your mother, there is an 
escutcheon of Van Horn." 

" Very well," replied the Regent, " I will share 
the disgrace with you, gentlemen." 

Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, the 
Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi 
left the cabinet ; but the Prince de Ligne and the 
Duke de Havre remained behind. The honor of 
their houses, more than the life of the unhappy 
Count, was the great object of their solicitude. 
They now endeavored to obtain a minor gi'ace. 
They represented, that in the Netherlands and in 
Germany, there was an important difference iu 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 357 

the public iiiiiid as to the mode of inflicting the 
punishment of death upon persons of quality. 
That decapitation had no influence on the fortunes 
of the family of the executed, but that the pun 
ishment of the wheel was such an infamy, that 
the uncles, aunts, brothers, and sisters, of the 
criminal, and his whole family, for three succeed- 
ing generations, were excluded from all noble 
chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign bishoprics, 
and even Teutonic commanderies of the Order 
of Malta. They showed how this would operate 
immediately upon the fortunes of a sister of the 
Count, who was on the point of being received 
as a canoness into one of the noble chapters. 

While this scene was going on in the cabinet 
of the Regent, the illustrious assemblage of 
petitioners remained in the hall of council, in the 
most gloomy state of suspense. The reentrance 
from the cabinet of the Cardinal de Rohan and 
the Marquis de Crequi, with pale downcast coun- 
tenances, had struck a chill into every heart. Still 
they lingered until near midnight, to learn the 
result of the after application. At length the 
cabinet conference was at an end. The Regent 
came forth and saluted the high personages of 
the assemblage in a courtly manner. One old 
lady of quality, JMadame de Guy on, whom he had 
known in his infancy, he kissed on the cheek, call- 
ing her his " good aunt." He made a most cer- 
emonious salutation to the stately Marchioness dc 
Crequi, telling her he was charmed to see her at 
the Palais Royal ; " a compliment very ill-timed," 
eaid the Marchioness, "considering the circum- 



358 THE COUNT VAN HO UN. 

etance which brought me there." He then con- 
ducted the Ladies to the door of the second saloon, 
and there dismissed them with the most cere- 
monious pohteness. 

The application of the Prince de Ligne and 
the Duke de Havre, for a change of the mode of 
punishment, had, after much difficulty, been suc- 
cessful. The Regent had promised solemnly to 
send a letter of commutation to the attorney-gen- 
eral on Holy Monday, the 25th of March, at five 
o'clock in the morning. According to the same 
promise, a scaffold would be arranged in the 
cloister of the Conciergerie, or prison, whei'e the 
Count would be beheaded on the same morning, 
immediately after having received absolution. This 
mitigation of the form of punishment gave but 
little consolation to the great body of petitioners, 
who had been anxious for the pardon of the youth ; 
it was looked upon as all important, however, by 
the Prince de Ligne, who, as has been before 
observed, was exquisitely alive to the dignity of 
his family. 

The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de 
Crequi visited the unfortunate youth in prison. 
He had just received the communion in the chapel 
of the Concierojerie, and was kneeling before the 
altar, listening to a mass for the dead, which was 
performed at his request. He protested his inno- 
cence of any intention to murder the Jew, but 
did not deign to allude to the accusation of rob- 
bery. He made the Bishop and the Marquis 
promise to see his brother the Prince, and in- 
form him of this his dying asseveration. 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 359 

Two other of liis relations, the Prince Rebecq- 
Montmorency and the Marshal Van Isenghien» 
visited him secretly, and offered him poison, as a 
means of evading the disgrace of a public execu- 
tion. On his refusing to take it, they left him 
with hi oh indiofnation. " Miserable man ! " said 
they, " you are fit only to perish by the hand of 
the executioner ! " 

Tiie Mar([uis de Crequi sought the executioner 
of Paris, to bespeak an easy and decent death for 
the unfortunate youth. " Do not make him suf- 
fer," said he ; " uncover no part of him but the 
neck, and have his body placed in a coflSn before 
you deliver it to his family." The executioner 
promised all that was requested, but declined a 
rouleau of a liundred louis-d'ors which the Marquis 
would have put into his hand. " I am paid by 
the King for fulfilling my office," said he ; and 
added, that he had already refused a like sum, 
offered by another relation of the Marquis. 

The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a 
state of deep affliction. There he found a letter 
from the Duke de St. Simon, the familiar friend 
of the Regent, repeating the promise of that 
Prince, that the punishment of the wheel should 
be commuted to decapitation. 

" Imagine," says the Marchioness de Crequi, 
who in her memoirs gives a detailed account of 
this affair, " imagine what we experienced, and 
what was our astonishment, our grief, and indig- 
nation, when, on Tuesday the 26th of March, an 
liour after midday, word was brought us that the 
Count Van Horn had been exposed on the wheel 



360 THE COUNT VAN FTORN. 

in the Place de Greve, since half-past six in the 
morning, on the same scaffold with the Piedmon 
tese, De Mille, and that he had been torturer' 
previous to execution ! " 

One more scene of aristocratic pride closed thi 
tragic story. The Marquis de Crequi, on recei' 
ng this astounding news, immediately arrayed 
himself in the uniform of a general officer, with 
his cordon of nobility on the coat. He ordered 
six valets to attend him in grand livery, and two 
of his carriages, each with six horses, to be 
brought forth. In this sumptuous state he set off 
for the Place de Greve, where he had been pre- 
ceded by the Princes de Ligne, de Rohan, de 
CroUy, and the Duke de Havre. 

The Count Van Horn was already dead, and it 
was believed that the executioner had had the 
charity to give him the coup de grace, or "death- 
blow," at eight o'clock in the morning;. At five 
o'clock in the evening, when tlie Judge Commis- 
sary left his post at the Hotel de Ville, these 
noblemen, with their own hands, aided to detach 
the mutilated remains of their relation ; the 
Marquis de Crequi placed them in one of his 
carriages, and bore them off to his hotel, to 
receive the last sad obsequies. 

The conduct of the Regent in this affair excited 
general indignation. His needless severity was 
attributed by some to vindictive jealousy ; by 
others to the persevering machinations of Law 
and the Abbe Dubois. The house of Van Horn, 
and the high nobility of Flanders and Germany, 
considered themselves flagrantly outraged ; many 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 301 

Bchemes of vengeance were talked of, and a hatred 
engendered against the Regent that followed him 
throngh life, and was wreaked with bitternass 
upon his memory after his death. 

The following letter is said to have been written 
to the Regent by the Prince Van Horn, to whom 
the former had adjudged the confiscated effects of 
the Count : — 

"■ I do not complain, sir, of the death of my 
brother, but I complain that your Royal Highness 
has violated in his person the rights of the king- 
dom, the nobility, and the nation. I thank you 
for the confiscation of his effects ; but I should 
think myself as much disgraced as he, should I 
accept any favor at your hands. I hope that God 
and the King may render to you as strict justice 
as you have rendered to my unfortunate brother" 






DON JUAN : A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

" I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, and 
have been wondered at by others; but I must onlv wonder ati 
myself, for, if they be not mad, I 'me come to m^^ own buriall." 
Shikley's " Witty Faihie One." 

VERYBODY has heard of the flite 
of Don Juan, the famous libertine of 
Seville, who, for his sins against the fair 
sex and other minor peccadilloes, was hurried i 
away to the infernal regions. His story has been 
illustrated in play, in pantomime, and farce, on 
every stage in Christendom, until at length it has 
been rendered the theme of the opera of operas, 
and embalmed to endless duration in the glorious 
music of Mozart. I well recollect the effect of 
this story upon my feelings in my boyish days, 
though represented in grotesque pantomime ; the 
awe with which I contemplated the monumental 
statue on horseback of the murdered commander, 
gleaming by pale moonlight in the convent ceme- 
tery ; how my heart quaked as he bowed his 
marble head, and accepted the impious invitation 
of Don Juan ; how each footfall of the statue 
smote upon my heart, as I heard it approach, step 
by step, through the echoing corridor, and beheld 
It enter, and advance, a moving figure of stone, to 
the supper-table ! But then the convivial scene 



DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. SC3 

in the charnel-house, where Don Juan returned 
the visit of the statue, was offered a banquet of 
sculls and bones, and on refusing to partake, was 
hurled into a yawning gulf under a tremendous 
shower of fire ! These were accumulated horrors 
enough to shake the nerves of the most pantomime- 
loving school-boy. Many have supposed the story 
of Don Juan a mere fable. I myself thought so 
once ; but " seeing is believing." I have since 
beheld the very scene where it took place, and 
now to indulge any doubt on the subject, would 
be preposterous. 

I was one night perambulating the streets of 
Seville, in company with a Spanish friend, a curi- 
ous investigator of the popular traditions and other 
good-for-nothing lore of the city, and who was 
kind enouorh to imagine he had met, in me, with 
a congenial spirit. In the course of our rambles, 
we were passing by a heavy dark gateway, open- 
ing into the court-yard of a convent, when he laid 
his hand upon my arm : '' Stop ! " said he ; " this 
is the convent of San Francisco ; there is a story 
connected with it, which I am sure must be known 
to you. You cannot but have heard of Don Juan 
and the marble statue." 

" Undoubtedly," replied I ; "it has been famil- 
iar to me from childhood." 

" Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this very 
convent that the events took place." 

" Why, you do riot mean to say that the story 
is founded on fiact ? " 

" Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of the 
jase ai*e said to have occurred during the reign of 



364 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

Alfonso XL Don Juan was of the noble famili 
of Tenorio, one of the most illustrious houses of 
Andaliisia. His father, Don Diego Tenorio, wa; 
a favorite of the king, and liis family rankec 
among the veintecuatros, or magistrates, of the 
city. Presuming on his high descent and power 
fill connections, Don Juan set no bounds to hi 
excesses : no female, high or low, was sacred fron 
his pursuit ; and he soon became the scandal of 
Seville. One of his most daring outrages was 
to penetrate by night into the palace of Don Gon- 
zalo de Ulloa, Commander of the Order of Cala- 
trava, and attempt to cany off his daughter. The] 
household was alarmed ; a scuffle in the dark tookii 
place ; Don Juan escaped, but the unfortunatet 
commander was found weltering in his blood, and 
expired without being able to name his murderer.' 
Suspicions attached to Don Juan ; he did not stopi 
to meet the investigations of justice and the ven^ 
geance of the powerful family of Ulloa, but fledl 
from Seville, and took refuge with his uncle, Doni 
Pedro Tenorio, at that time ambassador at thee 
court of Naples. Here he remained until thei 
agitation occasioned by the murder of Don Gon- 
zalo had time to subside ; and the scandal which 
the affair might cause to both the families of Ul- 
loa and Tenorio had induced them to hush it up. 
Don Juan, however, continued his libertine careen 
at Naples, until at length his excesses forfeited! 
the protection of his uncle the ambassador, and 
obliged him again to flee. He had made his way' 
back to Seville, trusting that his past misdeeds 
were forgotten, or rather trusting to his dare-devil 



DON J VAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 365 

ppirit and the power of his family, to carry him 
through all difficulties. 

" It was shortly after his return, and while in 
the height of his arrogance, that on visiting this 
very convent of Francisco, he belield on a monu- 
ment the equestrian statue of the murdered com- 
niander, wlio had been buried within the walls 
of this sacred edifice, where the family of Ulloa 
liad a chapel. It was on this occasion that Don 
Juan, in a moment of impious levity, invited the 
statue to the banquet, the awful catastrophe of 
which has given such celebrity to his story." 

" And pray how much of this story," said I, 
« is believed in Seville ? " 

" The whole of it by the populace, with whom 
it has been a favorite tradition since time imme- 
morial, and who crowd to the theatres to see it 
represented in dramas written long since by Tyrso 
de Molina, and another of our popular writers. 
Many in our higher ranks also, accustomed from 
childhood to this story, would feel somewhat in- 
dignant at hearing it treated with contempt. An 
attempt has been made to explain the whole, by 
asserting that, to put an end to the extravagances 
of Don Juan, and to pacify the family of Ulloa, 
without exposing the delinquent to the degrading 
penalties of justice, he was decoyed into this con- 
vent under false pretext, and either plu:.ged into 
a pei-petual dungeon, or privately hurried out of 
existence ; while the story of the statue was cir- 
culated by the monks, to account for his sudden 
disappeai'ance. The populace, however, are not 
to be cajoled out of a ghost-story by any of these 



366 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

plausible explanations ; and the marble statue still 1 
strides the stage, and Don Juan is still plunged i 
into the infernal regions, as an awful warning to 
all rake-helly youngsters, in like case offending." 

While my companion was relating these anec- 
dotes, we had traversed the exterior court-yard of 
the convent, and made our way into a great in- 
terior court, partly surrounded by cloisters and 
dormitories, partly by chapels, and having a large 
fountain in the centre. The pile had evidently 
once been extensive and magnificent ; but it was 
for the greater part in ruins. By the light of 
the stars, and of twinkling lamps placed here and 
there in the chapels and corridors, I could see that 
many of the columns and arches were broken ; 
the walls were rent and riven ; while burnt beams . 
and rafters showed the destructive effects of fire. 
The whole place had a desolate air ; the night 
breeze rustled through grass and weeds flaunting 
out of the crevices of the walls, or from the shat- 
tered columns ; the bat flitted about the vaulted 
passages, and the owl hooted from the ruined bel- 
fry. Never was any scene more completely fitted 
for a ghost-story. 

While I was indulging in picturings of the 
fancy, proper to such a place, the deep chant of 
the monks from the convent church came swell- 
ing upon the ear. " It is the vesper service," 
said my companion ; " follow me." 

Leading tlie way across the court of the clois- 
ters, and through one or two ruined passages, he 
reached the portal of the church, and pushina; 
open a wicket, cut in the folding-doors, we found 



DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 367 

Oiir.-^elves In the deep arched vestibule of the sa- 
cred edifice. To our left was the choir, forming 
one end of the church, and having a low vaulted 
ceiling, which gave it the look of a cavern. About 
this were ranged the monks, seated on stools, and 
chanting from immense books placed on music- 
tands, and liavinoj the notes scored in such orifran- 
tic characters as to be legible from every part of 
the choir. A few lights on these music-stands 
iinily illumined the choir, gleamed on the shaven 
heads of the monks, and threw their shadows on 
the walls. They were gross, blue-bearded, bul- 
let-headed men, with bass voices, of deep metallic 
tone, that reverberated out of the carvernous 
choir. 

To our right extended the great body of the 
church. It was spacious and lofty ; some of the 
side chapels had gilded grates, and were decorated 
with images and paintings, representing the suf- 
ferings of our Saviour. Aloft was a great paint- 
ing by Murillo, but too much in the dark to be 
distinguished. The gloom of the whole church 
was but faintly relieved by the reflected light 
from the choir, and the glimmering here and there 
of a votive lamp before the shrine of the saint. 
' As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, 
it was struck with the dimly seen figure of a 
man on horseback, near a distant altar. I touched 
my companion, and pointed to it : " The spectre 
Flatne !" said I. 

" No," replied he ; " it is the statue of tlie 
blessed St. lago ; the statue of the commander 
was in the cemetery of the convent, and was de- 



368 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 



J 



stroyed at the time of the conflagration. But,' 
added he, " as I see you take a proper interest ini 
these kind of stories, come with me to the otherr 
end of the church, where our whisperings willl 
not disturb these holy fathers at their devotions, 
and I will tell you another story, that has been 
current for some generations in our city, by which 
you will find that Don Juan is not the oidy liber- 
tine that has been the object of supernatural cas- 
tigation in Seville." 

I accordingly followed him with noiseless tread 
to the farther part of the church, where we took 
our seats on the steps of an altar opposite to the 
suspicious-looking figure on horseback, and there, 
in a low mysterious voice, he related to me the 
following narrative : — 

" There was once in Seville a gay young fel- 
low, Don Manuel de Manara by name, who, hav- 
ing come to a great estate by the death of his 
father, gave the reins to his passions, and plunged 
into all kinds of dissipation. Like Don Juan, 
whom he seemed to have taken for a model, he 
became famous for his enterprises among the fair 
sex, and was the cause of doors being barred and 
windows grated with more than usual strictness. 
All in vain. No balcony was too high for him 
to scale : no bolt nor bar was proof against his 
efforts ; and his very name was a word of terror 
to all the jealous husbands and cautious fathers 
of Seville. His exploits extended to country as 
well as city ; and in the village dependent on his 
castle, scarce a rural beauty was safe from his 
arts and entei-prises. 



DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 369 

" As he was one day ranging the streets of 
Seville, with several of his dissolute companions, 
he beheld a procession, about to enter the gate of 
a convent. In the centre was a young female, 
arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was a novice, 
who, having accomplished her year of probation, 
was about to take the black veil, and consecrate 
herself to heaven. The companions of Don Man- 
uel drew back, out of respect to the sacred pag- 
eant ; but he pressed forward, with his usual im- 
petuosity, to gain a near view of the novice. He 
almost jostled her, in passing through the portal 
of the church, when, on her turning round, he 
beheld the countenance of a beautiful village girl, 
who had been the object of his ardent pursuit, 
but who had been spirited secretly out of his reach 
by her relatives. She recognized him at the same 
moment, and fainted, but was borne within the 
grate of the chapel. It was supposed the agita- 
tion of the ceremony and the heat of the throng 
had overcome her. After some time, the curtain 
which hung within the grate was drawn up : there 
stood the novice, pale and trembling, surrounded 
by the abbess and the nuns. The ceremony pro- 
ceeded ; the crown of flowers was taken from her 
head, she was shorn of her silken tresses, received 
the black veil, and went passively through the 
remainder of the ceremony. 

" Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was 
roused to fury at the sight of this saci'ifice. His 
passion, which had almost faded away in the 
absence of the object, now glowed with tenfold 
ardor, being inflamed by the difficulties placed in 
24 



370 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

his way, and piqued by the measures which had 
been taken to defeat him. Never had the object 
of his pursuit appeared so lovely and desirable as 
when within the grate of the convent ; and he 
swore to have her, in defiance of heaven and earth. 
By dint of bribing a female servant of the con- 
vent, he contrived to convey letters to her, plead- 
ing his passion in the most eloquent and seductive 
terms. How successful they were, is only mat- 
ter of conjecture ; certain it is, he undertook one 
night to scale the garden-wall of the convent, 
either to carry off the nun, or gain admission to 
her cell. Just as he was mounting the wall, he 
was suddenly plucked back, and a stranger, muffled 
in a cloak, stood before him. 

" ' Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he : 'is it not 
enough to have violated all human ties ? Wouldst 
thou steal a bride from heaven ! ' 

" The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn 
on the instant, and furious at this interruption, he 
passed it through the body of the stranger, who 
fell dead at his feet. Hearing approaching foot- 
steps, he fled the fatal spot, and mounting his 
horse, which was at hand, retreated to his estate 
in the country, at no great distance from Seville. 
Here he remained throughout the next day, full 
of horror and remorse, dreading lest he should be 
known as the murderer of the deceased, and fear- 
ing each moment the arrival of the officers of 
justice. 

" The day passed, however, without molesta- 
tion ; and, as the evening advanced, unable any 
longer to endure this state of uncertainty and ap- 



DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 371 

prehension, he ventured back to Seville. Irre- 
sistibly his footsteps took the direction of the 
convent, but he paused and hovered at a distance 
from the scene of blood. Several persons were 
gathered round tlie place, one of whom was busy 
nailino- somcthino; aojainst the convent-wall. After 
a while they dispersed, and one passed near to 
Don Manuel. The latter addressed him, with 
hesitating voice. 

" ' Senor,' said he, ' may I ask the reason of 
yonder throng ? ' 

" ' A cavalier,' replied the other, ' has been 
murdered.' 

"■ ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; ' and can 
you tell me his name ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel De Manara,' replied the stranger, 
and passed on. 

" Don Manuel was startled at this mention of 
his own name, especially when applied to the 
murdered man. He ventured, when it was en- 
tirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. A 
small cross had been nailed against the wall, as is 
customary in Spain, to mark the place where a 
murder has been committed ; and just below it he 
read, by the twinkling light of a lamp : ' Here 
was murdered Don Manuel de Manara. Pray to 
God for his soul ! ' 

" Still more confounded and perplexed by this 
inscription, he wandered about the streets until 
the night was far advanced, and all was still and 
lonely. As he entered the principal square, the 
light of torches suddenly broke on him, and he 
beheld a grand funeral procession moving across 



372 DON JUAN : A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

it. There was a great train of priests, and many 
persons of dignified appearance, in ancient Span- 
ish dresses, attending as mourners, none of whom 
he knew. Accosting a servant who followed in 
the train, he demanded the name of the defunct. 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara,' was the reply ; 
and it went cold to his heart. He looked, and 
indeed beheld the armorial bearings of his family 
emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. Yet not 
one of his family was to be seen among the 
mourners. The mystery was more and more in- 
compi'ehensible. 

" He followed the procession as it moved on to 
the cathedral. The bier was deposited before the 
high altar ; the funeral service was commenced, 
and the grand organ began to peal through the 
vaulted aisles. 

'' Again the youth ventured to question this 
awful pageant. ' Father,' said he, with trembling 
voice, to one of the priests, ' who is this you are 
about to inter ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara ! ' replied the priest. 

" ' Father,' cried Don Manuel, impatiently, ' you 
are deceived. This is some imposture. Know 
that Don Manuel de Manara is alive and well, 
and now stands before you. / am Don Manuel 
de Manara ! ' 

" ' A vaunt, rash youth ! ' cried the priest ; 
* know that Don Manuel de Manara is dead ! — 
is dead ! — is dead ! — and we are all souls from 
purgatory, his deceased relatives and ancestors, 
and others that have been aided by masses from 
his family, who are permitted to come here and 
pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 



DON JUA.\ : A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 373 

" Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance upon 
the assemblage, in antiquated Spanish garbs, and 
recognized in tlieir pale and ghastly countenances 
the portraits of many an ancestor that hung in 
tlie family picture-gallery. He now lost all self- 
command, rushed up to the bier, and belield the 
counterpart of himself, but in the fixed and livid 
lineaments of death. Just at that moment the 
whole clioir burst forth with a ' Requiescat in pace^ 
that shook the vaults of the cathedral. Don Man- 
uel sank senseless on the pavement. He was found 
there early the next morning by the sacristan, and 
conveyed to his home. When sufficiently recov- 
ered, he sent for a friar, and made a full confes- 
sion of all that had happened. 

" ' My son,' said the friar, ' all this is a miracle 
and a mystery intended for thy conversion and 
salvation. The corpse thou hast seen was a token 
that thou hadst died to sin and the world ; take 
warning by it, and henceforth live to righteous- 
ness and heaven ! ' 

'' Don Manned did take warning by it. Guided 
by the counsels of the worthy friar, he disposed 
of all his temporal affairs ; dedicated the greater 
part of his wealth to pious uses, especially to the 
performance of masses for souls in purgatory ; and 
finally, entering a convent, became one of the 
most zealous and exemplary monks in Seville. 

While my companion was relating this story, 
my eyes wandered, from time to time, about the 
dusky church. Methought the burly countenances 
of the monks in the distant choir assumed a pallid, 



374 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH, 

ghastly line, and their deep metalhc voices a se- 
pulchral sound. By the time the story was ended, 
they had ended their chant ; and, extinguishing 
their lights, glided one by one, like shadows, 
through a small door in the side of the choir. A 
deeper gloom prevailed over the church ; the fig- 
ure opposite me on horseback grew more and more 
spectral ; and I almost expected to see it bow its 
head. 

" It is time to be off," said my companion, 
" unless we intend to sup with the statue." 

" I have no relish for such fare nor such com- 
pany," replied I ; and following my companion, 
we groped our way through the mouldering clois- 
ters. As we passed by the ruined cemetery, keep- 
ing up a casual conversation, by way of dispelling 
the loneliness of the scene, I called to mind the 
w^ords of the poet : — 

" The tombs 

And monumental caves of death look cold, 

And shoot a chilliiess to my trembling heart! 

Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; 

Nay, speak — and let me hear thy voice; 

Mine own atFrights me with its echoes." 

There wanted nothing but the marble statue of 
the commander, striding along the echoing clois- 
ters, to complete the haunted scene. 

Since that time, I never fail to attend the the- 
atre whenever the story of Don Juan is repre- 
sented, whether in pantomime or opera. In the 
sepluchral scene, I feel myself quite at home ; 
and when the statue makes his appearance, I greet 
liim as an old acquaintance. When the audience 
applaud, I look round upon them with a degree 



1 ON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 375 

of compassion. " Poor souls ! " I say to myself, 
" they think they are pleased ; they think they 
enjoy this piece, and yet they consider the whole 
as a fiction ! How much more would they enjoy 
it, if, like me, they knew it to be true — and had 
seen the very place / " 





LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT 




^T tlie dark and melancholy period when 
Don Roderick the Goth and his chiv- 
alry were overthrovvn on the banks of 
the Guadalete, and all Spain was overrun by the 
Moors, great was the devastation of churches and 
convents throughout that pious kingdom. The 
miraculous fate of one of those holy piles is thus 
recorded in an authentic legend of those days. 

On the summit of a hill, not very distant from 
the capital city of Toledo, stood an ancient con- 
vent and chapel, dedicated to the invocation of 
Saint Benedict, and inhabited by a sisterhood of 
Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum was confined 
to females of noble lineage. The younger sisters 
of the highest families were here given in relig- 
ious marriage to their Saviour, in order that the 
portions of their elder sisters might be increased, 
and they enabled to make suitable matches on 
earth ; or that the family wealth might go undi- 
vided to elder bi'others, and the dignity of their 
ancient houses be protected fi'om decay. Tiie 
convent was renowned, therefore, for enshrining 
wnthin its walls a sisterhood of the purest blood, 
the most immaculate virtue, and most resplendent 
beauty, of all Gothic Spain. 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 377 

When the Moors overran the kingdom, there 
was nothing that more excited their hostility, than 
these virgin asyhims. TJie very siglit of a con- 
vent-spire was sufficient to set their Moslem blood 
in a foment, and they sacked it M'ith as fierce a 
zeal as though the sacking of a nunnery were a 
sure passport to Elysium. 

Tidings of such outrages, committed in various 
parts of the kingdom, reached this noble sanc- 
tuary, and filled it with dismay. The danger 
came nearer and nearer ; the infidel hosts were 
spreading all over the country ; Toledo itself was 
captured ; there was no flying from the convent, 
and no security within its walls. 

In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was 
given one day, that a great band of Saracens were 
spurring across the plain. In an instant the whole 
convent was a scene of confusion. Some of the 
nuns wrung their fair hands at the windows ; 
others waved their veils, and uttered shrieks, from 
the tops of the towers, vainly hoping to draw re- 
lief from a country overrun by the foe. The 
sight of these innocent doves thus fluttering about 
their dove-cote, but increased the zealot fury of 
tlie whiskered Moors. They thundered at the 
portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates 
trembled on their hinges. 

The nuns now crowded round the abbess. They 
had been accustomed to look up to her as all-pow- 
erful, and they now implored her protection. The 
mother abbess looked with a rueful eye upon the 
treasures of beauty and vestal virtue exposed to 
8uch imminent peril. Alas ! how was she to pro- 



S78 LEGEND OF THE EN GULP HEP CONVENT 

tect them from the spoiler ! She had. it is true, 
experienced many signal interpositions of Provi- 
dence in her individual favor. Her early days 
had been passed amid the temptations of a court, 
where her virtue had been purified by repeated 
trials, from none of which had she escaped but 
by miracle. But were miracles never to cease ? 
Could she hope that the marvellous protection 
shown to herself, would be extended to a whole 
sisterhood ? Theie was no other resource. The 
Moors were at the threshold ; a few moments 
more, and the convent would be at their mercy. 
Summoning her nuns to follow her, she hurried 
into the chapel, and throwing herself on her knees 
before the image of the blessed Mary, " Oh, holy 
Lady ! " exclaimed she, " oh, most pure and im- 
maculate of virgins ! thou seest our extremity. 
The ravager is at the gate, and there is none on 
earth to help us ! Look down with pity, and 
grant that the earth may gape and swallow us, 
rather than that our cloister vows should suffer 
violation ! " 

The Moors redoubled their assault upon the 
portal ; the gates gave way, with a tremendous 
crash ; a savage yell of exultation arose ; when 
of a sudden the earth yawned, down sank the 
convent, with its cloisters, its dormitories, and all 
its nuns. The chapel tower was the last that 
sank, the bell ringing forth a peal of triumph in 
the very teeth of the infidels. 

Forty years had passed and gone, since the 
period of this miracle. The subjugation of Spain 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 379 

was (H)nij)lete. The Moors lorded it over city 
and country ; and such of the Christian popula- 
tion as remained, and were permitted to exercise 
their religion, did it in humble resignation to the 
Moslem sway. 

At this time, a Christian cavalier of Cordova, 
hearing that a patriotic band of his countrymen 
had i-aised the standard of the cross in the moun- 
tains of the Asturias, I'esolved to join them, and 
unite in breaking the yoke of bondage. Secretly 
arming himself and caparisoning his steed, he set 
forth from Cordova, and pursued his course by 
unfrequented mule-paths, and along the dry chan- 
nels made by winter torrents. His spirit burned 
with indignation, whenever, on commanding a 
view over a long sweeping plain, he beheld the 
mosque swelling in the distance, and the Arab 
horsemen careering about, as if the rightful lords 
of the soil. Many a deep-draw^n sigh and heavy 
groan, also, did the good cavalier utter, on passing 
the ruins of churches and convents desolated by 
the concjuerors. 

It was on a sultry midsummer evening, that 
this wandering cavalier, in skirting a hill thickly 
covered with forest, heard the faint tones of a 
vesper-bell sounding melodiously in the air, and 
seeming to come from the summit of the hilL 
The cavalier crossed himself with wonder at this 
unwonted and Christian sound. He supposed it 
to proceed from one of those humble chapels and 
hermitages permitted to exist through the indul- 
gence of tlie Moslem conquerors. Turning his 
steed up a narrow path of the forest, he sought 



380 LEGEND OE THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 

this sanctuary, in hopes of finding a hospitable 
shelter for the night. As he advanced, the ti^ees 
threw a deep gloom around him, and the bat flit- 
ted across his path. The bell ceased to toll, and 
all was silence. 

Presently a choir of female voices came steal- 
ing sweetly through the forest, chanting the even- 
ing service, to the solemn accompaniment of an 
oro-an. The heart of the o-ood cavalier melted at 
the sonnd, for it recalled the happier days of his 
country. Urging forward his weary steed, he at 
length arrived at a broad grassy area, on the sum- 
mit of the hill, surrounded by the forest. Here 
the melodious voices rose in full chorus, like the 
swelling of the breeze ; but whence they came, 
he could not telL Sometimes they were before, 
sometimes behind him ; sometimes in the air, 
sometimes as if from within the bosom of the 
earth. At length they died away, and a holy 
stillness settled on the place. 

The cavalier gazed around with bewildered eye. 
There was neither chapel nor convent, nor hum- 
ble hermitage, to be seen ; nothing but a moss- 
grown stone pinnacle, rising out of the centre of 
the area, surmounted by a cross. The green 
sward appeared to have been sacred from the 
tread of man or beast, and the surrounding trees 
bent toward the cross, as if in adoration. 

The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. He 
alighted, and tethered his steed on the skirts of 
the forest, where he might crop the tender herb- 
age ; then approaching the cross, he knelt and 
poured forth his evening prayers before this relio 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 381 

of the Christian days of Spain. His orisons 
being concluded, he laid himself down at the foot 
of the pinnacle, and reclining his head against 
one of its stones, fell into a deep sleep. 

About midnight he was awakened by the toll- 
ing of a bell, and found himself lying before the 
gate of an ancient convent. A train of nnns 
passed by, each bearing a taper. He rose and 
followed them into the chapel ; in the centre was 
a bier, on which lay the corpse of an aged nun. 
The organ performed a solemn requiem, the nuns 
joining in chorus. When the funeral service was 
finished, a melodious voice chanted, " Reqiiiescat 
in pace I '' — " May she rest in peace ! " The 
lights immediately vanished ; the whole passed 
away as a dream ; and the cavalier found himself 
at the foot of the cross, and beheld, by the faint 
rays of the rising moon, his steed quietly grazing 
near him. 

When the day dawned, he descended the hill, 
and following the course of a small brook, came 
to a cave, at the entrance of which was seated 
an ancient man, in hermit's garb, with rosary and 
cross, and a beard that descended to his girdle. 
He was one of those holy anchorites permitted 
by the Moors to live unmolested in the dens and 
caves, and humble hermitages, and even to prac- 
tise the rites of their religion. The cavalier, dis- 
mounting, knelt and craved a benediction. He 
then related all that had befallen him in the night, 
and besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 

" What thou hast heard and seen, my son," re- 
plied the otiier, " is but a type and shadow of the 
woes of Spain." 



382 LEGEND OF THE EN GULP HE D CONVENT. 

He then related the foregoing story of the mi- 
raculous deliverance of the convent. 

" Forty years," added the holy man, " have 
elapsed since this event, yet the bells of that sa- 
cred edifice are still heard, from time to time, 
sounding from underground, together with the 
pealing of the organ and the chanting of the 
choir. The Moors avoid this neighborhood, as 
haunted ground, and the whole place, as thou 
mayest perceive, has become covered with a thick 
and lonely forest." 

The cavalier listened with wonder to the story. 
For three days and nights did he keep vigils with 
the holy man beside the cross ; but nothing more 
was to be seen of nun or convent. It is sup- 
posed that, forty years having elapsed, the natural 
lives of all the nuns were finished, and the cava- 
lier had beheld the obsequies of the last. Cer- 
tain it is, that from that time, bell, and organ, and 
choral chant, have never more been heard. 

The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the 
cross, remains an object of pious pilgrimage. 
Some say that it anciently stood in front of the 
convent, but others that it was the spire which 
remained above ground, when the main body of 
the building sank, like the topmast of some tall 
ship that lias foundered. These pious believers 
maintain that the convent is miraculously pre- 
served entire in the centre of the mountain, where, 
if proper excavations were made, it would be found, 
with all its treasures, and monuments, and shrines, 
and relics, and the tombs of its virgin nuns. 

Should any one doubt the truth of this marvel- 



LEGEND OF THE EN GULP BED CONVENT. 383 

lous interposition of the Virgin, to protect the ves- 
tal purity of her votaries, let him read tlie excel- 
lent work entitled " Espana Triumphante," written 
by Fray Antonio de Sancta Maria, a barefoot friar 
of the Carmelite order, and he will doubt no longer. 





THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 



Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud, 

And wave thy purple wings. 
Now all thy figures are allowed, 

And various shapes of things. 
Create of airy forms a stream; 

It must have blood and naught of phlegm ; 
And though it be a walking dream, 

Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 

And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 
Or music on their ear. — Ben Jonson. 




HERE are more things in heaven and 
earth than are dreamed of in our philos- 
^ ophy," and among these may be placed 
that marvel and mystery of the seas, the Island 
of St. Brandan. Those who have read the his- 
tory of the Canaries, the fortunate islands of the 
ancients, may remember tlie wonders told of this 
enigmatical island. Occasionally it would be visi- 
ble from their shores, stretching away in the clear 
bright west, to all appearance substantial like 
themselves, and still more beautiful. Expeditions 
would launch forth from the Canaries to explore 
this land of promise. For a time its sun-gilt 
peaks and long, shadowy promontories would re- 
main distinctly visible, but in proportion as the 
voyagers approached, peak and promontory would 



THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 385 

gradually fade away until nothing would remain 
but blue sky above and deep blue water below. 
Hence this mysterious isle was stigmatized by 
ancient cosniographers with the name of Aprositus 
or the Inaccessible. The failure of numerous ex- 
peditions sent in quest of it, both in ancient and 
modern days, have at length caused its very exist- 
ence to be called in question, and it has been 
rashly pronounced a mere optical illusion, like 
the Fata Morgana of the Straits of Messina, or 
has been classed with those unsubstantial regions 
known to mariners as Cape Fly Away and the 
coast of Cloud Land. 

Let us not permit, however, the doubts of 
worldly-wise sceptics to rob us of all the glorious 
realms owned by happy credulity in days of yore. 
Be assured, O reader of easy faith ! — thou for 
whom it is my delight to labor — be assured that 
such an island actually exists, and has from time 
to time been revealed to the gaze and trodden by 
the feet of favored mortals. Historians and phi- 
losophers may have their doubts, but its existence 
has been fully attested by that inspired race, the 
poets ; who, being gitled with a kind of second 
sight, are enabled to discern those mysteries of 
nature hidden from the eyes of ordinary men. 
To this gifted race it has ever been a kind of 
wonder-land. Here once bloomed, and perhaps 
still blooms, the famous garden of the Hesperides, 
with its golden fruit. Here, too, the sorceress 
Arniida had her enchanted garden, in which she 
held the Christian paladin, Riniildo, in delicious 
but inglorious thraldom, as set forth in the im- 
25 



386 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

"mortal lay of Tasso. It was in this island that 
Sycorax the witch held sway, when the good 
Prospero and his infant daughter Miranda were 
wafted to its shores. Who does not know the 
tale as told in the magic page of Shakspeare ? 
The isle was then 

" full of noises, 



Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not." 

The island, in fact at different times, has been 
under the sway of different powers, genii of 
earth, and air, and ocean, who have made it their 
shadowy abode. Hither have retired many classic 
but broken down deities, shorn of almost all their 
attributes, but who once ruled the poetic world. 
Here Neptune and Amphitrite hold a diminished 
court, sovereigns in exile. Their ocean-chariot, 
almost a wreck, lies bottom upward in some sea- 
beaten cavern ; their pursy Tritons and haggard 
Nereids bask listlessly like seals about the rocks. 
Sometimes those deities assume, it is said, a 
shadow of their ancient pomp, and glide in state 
about a summer sea ; and then, as some tall In- 
diaman lies becalmed with idly flapping sail, her 
drowsy crew may hear the mellow note of the 
Triton's shell swelling upon the ear as the invisi- 
ble pageant sweeps by. 

On the shores of this wondrous isle the kraken 
heaves its unwieldy bulk and wallows many a 
rood. Here the sea-serpent, that mighty but 
much contested reptile, lies coiled up during the 
intervals of its revelations to the eyes of true 
believers. Here even the Flying Dutchman 



THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 887 

finds a port, and casts his anchor, and furls his 
shadowy sail, and takes a brief repose from his 
eternal criiisiugs. 

In the deep bays and harbors of the island lies 
many a spell-bonnd ship, long since given up as 
lost by the ruined merchant. Here, too, its crew, 
long, long bewailed in vain, lie sleeping from age 
to age in mossy grottoes, or wander about in 
pleasing oblivion of all things. Here in caverns 
are garnered up the priceless treasures lost in the 
ocean. Here sparkles in vain the diamond and 
flames the carbuncle. Here are piled up rich 
bales of Oriental silks, boxes of pearls, and piles 
of frolden ingots. 

Such are some of the marvels related of this 
island, wiiich may serve to throw light upon the 
following legend, of unquestionable truth, which 
I recommend to the implicit belief of the reader. 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 

A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 

In the early part of the fifteenth century, when 
Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, 
was pushing the career of discovery along the 
western coast of Africa, and the world was re- 
sounding with reports of golden regions on the 
mainland, and new-found islands in the ocean, 
there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered pilot 
of the seas, who had been driven by tempests, he 
knew not whither, and raved about an island far 



388 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

in the deep, upon wliicb be had landed, and which 
he had found peopled with Christians, and adorned 
with noble cities. 

The inhabitants, he said, having never before 
been visited by a ship, gathered round, and re- 
garded him with surprise. They told him they 
were descendants of a band of Christians, who 
fled from Spain when that country was conquered 
by the ]\Ioslems. They were curious about the 
state of their fatherland, and grieved to hear that 
the Moslems still held possession of the kingdom 
of Granada. They would have taken the old 
navigator to church, to convince him of their 
orthodoxy ; but, either through lack of devotion, 
or lack of faith in their words, he declined their 
invitation, and preferred to return on board of 
his ship. He was properly punished. A furious 
storm arose, drove him from his anchorage, hur- 
ried him out to sea, and he saw no more of the 
unknown island. 

This strange story caused great marvel in 
Lisbon and elsewhere. Those versed in history 
remembered to have read, in an ancient chronicle, 
that, at the time of the conquest of Spain, in the 
eighth century, when the blessed cross was cast 
down, and the crescent erected in its place, and 
when Christian churches were turned into Moslem 
mosques, seven bishops, at the head of seven bands 
of pious exiles, had fled from the peninsula, and 
embarked in quest of some ocean island, or dis- 
tant land, wliere they might found seven Christian 
cities, and enjoy their faith unmolested. 

The fate of these saints errant had hitherto 



nn: AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 389 

re niiiied a mystery, and their story had faded 
from memory ; the report of the old tem[)est- 
tossed pilot, however, revived this loiig-forgotten 
iheme ; and it was determined by the pious and 
enthusiastic, that the island thus accidentally dis- 
covered was the identical place of refuge whither 
the wandering bishops had been guided by a pro- 
tecting Providence, and where they had folded 
their flocks. 

This most excitable of worlds has always some 
darling object of chimerical enterprise ; the " Island 
of the vSeven Cities " now awakened as much in- 
terest and longing among zealous Christians as 
has the renowned city of Timbuctoo among ad- 
venturous travellers, or the Northeast passage 
among hardy navigators ; and it was a frequent 
prayer of the devout, that these scattered and 
lost portions of the Christian family might be 
discovered and reunited to the great body of 
Christendom. 

No one, however, entered into the matter with 
half the zeal of Don Fernando de Ulmo, a young 
cavalier of high standing in the Portuguese court, 
and of most sanguine and romantic temperament. 
He had recently come to his estate, and had run 
the round of all kinds of pleasures and excite- 
ments when this new theme of popular talk and 
wonder presented itself. The Island of the Seven 
Cities became now the constant subject of his 
thoughts by day, and his dreams by night ; it 
even rivalled his passion for a beautiful girl, one 
of the greatest belles of Lisbon, to whom he was 
betrothed. At lenojth his imagination became so 



390 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

inflamed on the subject, that he determined to fit 
out an expedition, at his own expense, and set 
sail in quest of this sainted island. It could not 
be a cruise of any great extent ; for, according to 
the calculations of the tempest-tossed pilot, it must 
be somewhere in the latitude of the Canaries ; 
which at that time, when the new world was as 
yet undiscovered, formed the frontier of ocean 
enterprise. Don Fernando applied to the crown 
for countenance and protection. As he was a 
favorite at court, the usual pati'onage was readily 
extended to him ; that is to say, he received a 
commission from the king, Don loam, II., consti- 
tuting him Adalantado, or military governor, of 
any country he might discover, with the single 
proviso, that he should bear all the expenses of 
the discovery, and pay a tenth of the profits to 
the crown. 

Don Fernando now set to work in the true 
spirit of a projector. He sold acre after acre 
of solid laud, and invested the proceeds in ships, 
guns, ammunition, and sea-stores. Even his old 
family mansion in Lisbon was mortgaged without 
scruple, for he looked forward to a palace in one 
of the Seven Cities, of which he was to be Ada- 
lantado. This was the age of nautical romance, 
when the thoughts of all speculative dreamers 
were turned to the ocean. The scheme of Don 
Fernando, therefore, drew adventurers of every 
kind. The merchant promised himself new marts 
of opulent traffic ; the soldier hoped to sack and 
plunder some one or other of those Seven Cities ; 
even the fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 391 

of the cloister, to join in a crusade which prom, 
ised such increase to the possessions of the Church. 
One person alone regarded the whole project 
with sovereign contempt and growling hostility. 
This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of the 
beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando was 
betrothed. He was one of those perverse, mat- 
ter-of-fact old men, who are prone to oppose ev- 
erything speculative and romantic. He had no 
faith in the Island of the Seven Cities ; regarded 
the projected cruise as a crack-brained freak ; 
looked with angry eye and internal heart-burning 
on the conduct of his intended son-in-law, chaifer- 
irig away solid lands for lands in the moon ; and 
scoffingly dubbed him Adalantado of Cloud Land. 
In fact, he had never really relished the intended 
match, to which his consent had been slowly ex- 
torted by the tears and entreaties of his daughter. 
It is true he could have no reasonable objections 
to the youth, for Don Fernando was the very 
flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one could 
excel him {it the tilting match, or the riding at 
the ring ; none was more bold and dexterous in 
the bull fight ; none composed more gallant madri- 
gals in praise of his lady's charms, or sang them 
with sweeter tones to the accompaniment of her 
guitar ; nor could any one handle the castanets 
and dance the bolero with more captivating grace. 
All these admirable qualities and endowments, 
however, though they had been sufficient to win 
the heart of Serafina, were nothing in the eyes 
of her unreasonable father. Oh Cupid, god of 
Love ! why will fathers always be so unreason- 
able ? 



392 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

The engagement to Serafina had threatened at 
first to throw an obstacle in the way of the ex- 
pedition of Don Fernando, and for a time per- 
plexed him in the extreme. He was passionately 
attached to the young lady ; but he was also pas- 
sionately bent on this romantic enterprise. How 
sliould he reconcile the two passionate inclina- 
tions ? A simple and obvious arrangement at 
length presented itself, — marry Serafina, enjoy a 
portion of the honeymoon at once, and defer the 
rest until his return from the discovery of the 
Seven Cities ! 

He hastened to make known this most excel- 
lent arrangement to Don Ramiro, when the long- 
smothered wrath of the old cavalier burst forth. 
He reproached him with being the dupe of wan- 
dering vagabonds and wild schemers, and with 
squandering all his real possessions, in pursuit of 
empty bubbles. Don Fernando was too sanguine 
a projector, and too young a man, to listen tamely 
to such language. He acted with what is tech- 
nically called " becoming spirit." A high quarrel 
ensued ; Don Ramiro pronounced him a madman, 
and forbade all ferther intercourse with his daugh- 
ter until he should give proof of returning sanity, 
by abandoning this madcap enterprise ; while Don 
Fernando flung out of the house, more bent than 
ever on the expedition, from the idea of triumph- 
ing over the incredulity of the gray beard, when 
he should return successful. Don Ramiro's heart 
misgave him. Wiio knows, thought he, but this 
crack-brained visionary may persuade my daugh- 
ter to elope with him, and share his throne in this 



THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 393 

unknown paradise of fools ? If I could only keep 
her safe until his ships are fairly out at sea ! 

He repaired to her apartment, represented to 
her the sanguine, unsteady character of her lover 
and the chimerical value of his schemes, and urged 
the propriety of suspending all intercourse with 
him until he should recover from his present hal- 
lucination. She bowed her head as if in filial 
acquiescence, whereupon he folded her to his 
bosom with parental fondness and kissed away a 
tear that was stealing over her cheek, but as he 
left the chainber quietly turned the key on the 
lock ; for though he was a fond father and had a 
high opinion of the submissive temper of his child, 
he had a still higher opinion of the conservative 
virtues of lock and key, and determined to trust 
to them until the caravels should sail. Whether 
the damsel had been in any wise shaken in her 
faith as to the sciiemes of her lover by her fatli- 
er's eloquence, tradition does not say ; but certain 
it is, that, the moment she heard the key turn in 
the lock, she became a firm believer in the Island 
of the Seven Cities. 

The door was locked ; but her will was uncon- 
fined. A window of tlie chamber opened into one 
of those stone balconies, secured by iron bars, 
which project like huge cages from Portuguese 
and Spanish houses. Within this balcony the 
beautiful Seratina had her birds and flowers, and 
here she was accustomed to sit on moonlight nights 
as in a bower, and touch her guitar and sing like 
a wakeful nightingale. From this balcony an in 
tercourse was now maintained between the lovers, 



394 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

against which the lock and key of Don Ramiro 
were of no avail. All day would Fernando be 
occupied hurrying the equipments of his ships, 
but evening found him in sweet discourse beneath 
his lady's window. 

At length the preparations were completed. 
Two gallant caravels lay at anchor in the Tagus 
ready to sail at sunrise. Late at night by the 
pale light of a waning moon the lover had his 
last interview. The beautiful Serafina was sad 
at heart and full of dark forebodings ; her lover 
full of hope and confidence. " A few short months," 
said he, " and I shall return in triumph. Thy 
father will then blush at his incredulity, and has- 
ten to welcome to his house the Adalantado of 
the Seven Cities." 

The gentle lady shook her head. It was not 
on this point she felt distrust. She was a thorough 
believer in the Island of the Seven Cities, and 
so sure of the success of the enterprise that she 
might have been tempted to join it had not the 
balcony been high and the grating strong. Other 
considerations induced that dubious shaking of 
the head. She had heard of the inconstancy of 
the seas, and the inconstancj' of those who roam 
them. Might not Fernando meet with other loves 
in foreign ports ? Might not some peerless beauty 
in one or other of those Seven Cities efface the 
image of Serafina from his mind ? Now let the 
truth be spoken, the beautiful Serafina had reason 
for her disquiet. If Don Fernando had any fault 
in the world, it was that of being rather inflam- 
mable and apt to take fire from every sparkling 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 31)5 

eye. He liad been somewhat of a rover among 
the sex on shore, what might he be on sea ? 

She ventured to express her doubt, but he 
spurned at the very idea. " What ! he false to 
Serafina ! He bow at the shrine of another 
beauty ? Never ! never ! " Repeatedly did he 
bend his knee, and smite his breast, and call upon 
the silver moon to witness his sincerity and truth. 

He retorted the doubt, " Might not Serafina 
herself forget her plighted faith ? Might not 
some wealthier rival present himself while he was 
tossing on the sea ; and, backed by her father's 
wishes, win the treasure of her hand ! " 

The beautiful Serafina raised her white arms 
between the iron bars of the balcony, and, like 
her lover, invoked the moon to testify her vows. 
Alas ! how little did Fernando know her heart. 
The more her father should oppose, the more 
would she be fixed in faith. Thougii years should 
intervene, Fernando on his return would find her 
true. Even should the salt sea swallow him up 
(and her eyes shed salt tears at the very thought), 
never would she be the wife of another ! Never, 
never, never ! She drew from her finger a ring 
gemmed with a i*uby heart, and dropped it from 
the balcony, a parting pledge of constancy. 

Thus the lovers parted with many a tender 
word and plighted vow. But will they keep 
those vows ? Perish the doubt ! Have they not 
called the constant moon to witness ? 

With the morning dawn the caravels dropped 
down tlie Tagus, and put to sea. They steered 
for the Canaries, in those days the regions of nau- 



396 TIIK PHANTOM ISLAND. 

tical discovery and romance, and the outposts of 
the known world, for as yet Columbus had not 
steered his daring barks across the ocean. Scarce 
Iiad they reached those latitudes when they were 
separated by a violent tempest. For many days 
was the caravel of Don Fernando driven about 
at the mercy of the elements ; all seamanship was 
baffled, destruction seemed inevitable and the crew 
were in despair. All at once the storm subsided ; 
tlie ocean sank into a calm ; the clouds which 
had veiled tlie face of heaven were suddenly with- 
drawn, and the tempest- tossed mariners beheld a 
fair and mountainous island, emerging as if by 
enchantment from the murky gloom. They rub- 
bed their eyes and gazed for a time almost in- 
credulously, yet there lay the island spread out in 
lovely landscapes, with the late stormy sea laving 
its shores with peaceful billows. 

The pilot of the caravel consulted his maps 
and charts ; no island like the one before him was 
laid down as existing in those parts ; it is true 
he had lost his reckoning in the late storm, but, 
according to his calculations, he could not be far 
from the Canaries ; and this was not one of that 
group of islands. The caravel now lay perfectly 
becalmed off the mouth of a river, on the banks 
of which, about a league from the sea, was de- 
scried a noble city, with lofty walls and towers, 
and a protecting castle. 

After a time, a stately barge with sixteen oars 
was seen emerging from the river, and approach- 
ing the caravel. It was quaintly carved and gilt ; 
the oarsmen were clad in antique garb, their oara 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 397 

painted of a. bright crimson, and they came slowly 
and solemnly, keeping time as they rowed to the 
cadence of an old Spanish ditty. Under a silken 
canopy in tiie stern, sat a cavalier richly clad, 
and over his head was a banner bearing the sa- 
cred emblem of the cross. 

When the barge reached the caravel, the cav- 
alier stepped on board. He was t^\ll and gaunt ; 
with a long Spanish visage, moustaches that curled 
up to liis eyes, and a forked beard. He wore 
gauntlets reaching to his elbows, a Toledo blade 
strutting out behind, with a basket hilt, in which 
he carried his handkerchief. His air was lofty 
and precise, and bespoke indisputably the hidalgo. 
Thrusting out a long spindle leg, he took off a 
huge sombrero, and swaying it until the feather 
swept the ground, accosted Don Fernando in the 
old Castilian language, and with the old Castilian 
courtesy, welcoming him to the Island of the Seven 
Cities. 

Don Fernando was overwhelmed with aston- 
ishment. Could this be true? Had he really 
been tempest-driven to the very land of which he 
was in quest ? 

It was even so. That very day the inhabi- 
tants were holding high festival in commemora- 
tion of the escape of their ancestors from the 
Moors. The arrival of the caravel at such a 
jujicture was considered a good omen, the accom- 
plishment of an ancient propliecy through which 
the island was to be restored to tlie great com- 
munity of Christendom. The cavalier before him 
was grand-chamberlain, sent by the alcayde to in- 
rite him to the festivities of the capital. 



398 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

Don Fernando could scarce believe that this 
was not all a dream. He made known his name 
and the object of his voyage. The grand cham- 
berlain declared that all was in perfect accordance 
with the ancient prophecy, and that the moment 
his credentials were presented, he would be ac- 
knowledged as the Adalantado of the Seven 
Cities. In the mean time the day was waning ; 
the barge was ready to convey him to the land, 
and would as assuredly bring him back. 

Don Fernando's pilot, a veteran of the seas, 
drew him aside and expostulated against his ven- 
turing, on the mere word of a stranger, to land 
in a stranoje barge on an unknown shore. Who 
knows, Senor, what land this is, or what people 
inhabit it ? " 

Don Fernando was not to be dissuaded. Had 
he not believed in this island when all the world 
doubted ? Had he not sought it in defiance of 
storm and tempest, and was he now to shrink 
from its shores when they lay before him in calm 
weather ? In a word, was not faith the very cor- 
ner-stone of his enterprise ? 

Having arrayed himself, therefore, in gala dress 
befitting the occasion, he took his seat in the barge. 
The grand chamberlain seated himself opposite. 
The rowers plied their oars, and renewed the 
mournful old ditty, and the gorgeous but un- 
wieldy barge moved slowly through the water. 

The night closed in before they entered the 
river, and swept along past rock and promontory, 
each guarded by its tower. At every post they 
were challenged by the sentinel. 



THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 399 

" Who goes there ? " 
" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
" Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on." 
Entering the harbor they rowed close by an 
armed galley of ancient form. Soldiers with cross- 
bows patrolled the deck. 
" Who goes there ? " 
" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
" Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on." 
They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, 
leading up between two massive towers, and 
knocked at the water-gate. A sentinel, in an- 
cient steel casque, looked from the barbecan. 
" Who is there ? " 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
" Welcome, Senor Adalantado." 
The gate swung open, grating upon rusty 
hinges. They entered between two rows of war- 
riors in Gothic armor, with crossbows, maces, 
battle-axes, and faces old-fashioned as their armor. 
There were processions through the streets, in 
commemoration of the landing of the seven Bish- 
ops and their followers, and bonfires, at which 
effigies of losel Moors expiated their invasion of 
Christendom by a kind of auto-da-fe. The groups 
round the fires, uncouth in their attire, looked 
like the fantastic figures that roam the streets in 
Carnival time. Even the dames who gazed down 
from Gothic balconies hung with antique tapestry, 
resembled effigies dressed up in Christmas mum- 
meries. Everything, in short, bore the stamp of 
tbrmer ages, as if the world had suddenly rolled 
back for several centuries. Nor was this to ba 



400 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

wondered at. Had not the Island of the Seven 
Cities been cut off from the rest of the world for 
several hundred years ; and were not these the 
modes and customs of Gothic Spain before it was 
conquered by the Mooi's ? 

Arrived at the palace of the alcayde, the grand 
chamberlain knocked at the portal. Tlie porter 
looked through a wicket, and demanded who was 
there. 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

The portal was thrown wide open. The grand 
chamberlain led the way up a vast, heavily 
moulded, marble staircase, and into a hall of cere- 
mony, where was the alcayde with several of the 
principal dignitaries of the city, who had a mar- 
vellous i-esemblance, in form and feature, to the 
quaint figures in old illuminated manuscripts. 

The grand chamberlain stepped forward and 
announced the name and title of the stranger 
guest, and the extraordinary nature of his mis- 
sion. The announcement appeared to create no 
extraordinary emotion or surprise, but to be re- 
ceived as the anticipated fulfilment of a propliecy. 

The reception of Don Fernando, however, was 
profoundly gracious, though in the same style of 
stately courtesy which everywhere prevailed. He 
would have produced his credentials, but this was 
courteously declined. Tlie evening was devoted 
to high festivity ; the following day, when he 
should enter the port with his caravel, would be 
devoted to business, when the credentials would 
be received in due form, and he inducted into 
office as Adalantado of the Seven Cities. 



THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 401 

Don FeriiMiido was now conducted through 
one of those interminable suites of apartments, 
the pride of Spanish palaces, all furnished in a 
style of obsolete magnificence. In a vast saloon, 
blazing with tapers, was assembled all the aristoc- 
racy and fashion of the city, — stately dames and 
cavaliers, the very counterpart of the figures in 
the tapestry which decorated the walls. Fernando 
gazed in silent marvel. It was a reflex of the 
proud aristocracy of Spain in the time of Roder- 
ick the Goth. 

The festivities of the evening were all in the 
style of solemn and antiquated ceremonial. There 
was a dance, but it was as if the old tapestry 
were put in motion, and all the figures moving in 
stately measure about the floor. There was one 
exception, and one that told powerfully upon the 
susceptible Adalantado. The alcayde's daughter 
— such a ripe, melting beauty ! Her dress, it is 
true, like the dresses of her neighbors, might have 
been worn before the flood, but she had the black 
Andalusian eye, a glance of which, through its 
long dark lashes, is irresistible. Her voice, too, 
her manner, her undulating movements, all smacked 
of Andalusia, and showed how female charms may 
be transmitted from age to age, and clime to clime, 
without ever going out of fashion. Those who 
know the witchery of the sex, in that most amor- 
ous part of amorous old Spain, may judge of the 
fascination to which Don Fernando was exposed, 
as he joined in the dance with one of its most 
captivating descendants. 

He sat beside her at the ban {uet ! such an old- 
26 



402 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

world feast ! such obsolete dainties ! At the head 
of the table the peacock, that bird of state and 
ceremony, was served up in full plumage on a 
golden dish. As Don Fernando cast his eyes 
down the glittering board, what a vista presented 
itself of odd heads and head-dresses ; of formal 
bearded dignitaries and stately dames, with cas- 
tellated locks and towering plumes ! Is it to be 
wondered at that he should turn with delight from 
these antiquated figures to the alcayde's daughter, 
all smiles and dimples, and melting looks and melt- 
ing accents ? Beside, for I wish to give him ev- 
ery excuse in my power, he was in a particularly 
excitable mood from the novelty of the scene be- 
fore him, from this realization of all his hopes 
and fancies, and from frequent draughts of the 
wine-cup presented to him at every moment by 
officious pages during the banquet. 

In a word — there is no concealing the mat- 
ter — before the evening was over, Don Fernando 
was making love outright to the alcayde's daugh- 
ter. They had wandered together to a moon-lit 
balcony of the palace, and he was charming lier 
ear with one of those love-ditties with which, in 
a like balcony, he had serenaded the beautiful 
Serafina. 

The damsel hung her head coyly. " Ah ! 
Seiior, these are flattering words ; but you cava- 
liers, who roam the seas, are unsteady as its 
waves. To-morrow you will be throned in state, 
Adalantado of the Seven Cities ; and will think 
no more of the alcayde's daughter." 

Don Fernando in the intoxication of the mo- 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 403 

ment cjilled tlie moon to witness his sincerity. 
As lie )-;iised his hand in adjuraiion, the chaste 
moon cast a ray upon the ring that sparkled on 
his finger. It caught the damsel's eye. " Signor 
Adalantado," said she archly, " I have no great 
faith in the moon, but give me that ring upon 
your finger in pledge of the truth of what you 
profess." 

The gallant Adalantado was taken by surprise ; 
there was no parrying this sudden appeal ; before 
he had time to reflect, the ring of the beautiful 
Serafina glittered on the finger of the alcayde's 
daughter. 

At this eventful moment the chamberlain ap- 
proached with lofty demeanor, and announced that 
the bai'ge was waiting to bear him back to the 
caravel. I forbear to relate the ceremonious part- 
ings with the alcayde and his dignitaries, and the 
tender farewell of the alcayde's daughter. He 
took his seat in the barge opposite the grand 
chamberlain. The rowers plied their crimson 
oars in the same slow and stately manner to the 
cadence of the same mournful old ditty. His 
brain was in a whirl with all that he had 
seen, and his heart now and then gave him a 
twinge as he thought of his temporary infidelity 
to the beautiful Serafina. The barge sallied out 
into the sea, but no caravel was to be seen ; 
doubtless she had been carried to a distance by 
the current of the river. The oarsmen rowed 
on ; their monotonous chant had a lulling effect. 
A drowsy influence crept over Don Fernando. 
Objects swam before his eyes. The oarsmen as- 



404 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

sumed odd shapes as in a dream. The grand 
chamberlain grew hirger and larger, and taller 
and taller. He took off his huge sombrero, and 
held it over the head of Don Fernando, like an 
extinguisher over a candle. The latter cowered 
beneath it ; he felt himself sinking in the socket. 

" Good night ! Senor Adalantado of the Seven 
Cities ! " said the grand chamberlain. 

The sombrero slowly descended — Don Fer- 
nando was extinguished ! 

How long he remained extinct no mortal man 
can tell. When he returned to consciousness, he 
found himself in a strange cabin, surrounded by 
strangers. He rubbed his eyes, and looked round 
him wildly. Where was he ? — On board a Por- 
tuguese ship, bound to Lisbon. How came he 
there ? — He had been taken senseless from a 
wreck drifting about the ocean. 

Don Fernando was more and more confounded 
and perplexed. He recalled, one by one, every- 
thing that had happened to him in the Island of 
the Seven Cities, until he had been extinguished 
by the sombrero of the grand chamberlain. But 
what had happened to him since ? What had 
become of his caravel ? Was it the wreck of her 
on which he had been found floating ? 

The people about him could give no information 
on the subject. He entreated them to take him to 
the Island of the Seven Cities, which could not be 
far off ; told them all that had befallen him there ; 
that he had but to land to be received as Adalan- 
tado ; when he would reward them magnificently 
for their- services. 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 405 

They regarded his words as the ravings of 
Qeliriiim, and in their honest solicitude for the 
restoration of his reason, administered such roudi 
remedies that he was fain to drop the subject and 
observe a cautious taciturnity. 

At length they arrived in the Tagus, and 
anchored before the famous city of Lisbon. Don 
Fernando sprang joyfully on shoi-e, and hastened 
to his ancestral mansion. A strange porter opened 
the door, who knew nothing of him or his fam- 
ily ; no people of the name had inhabited the house 
for many a year. 

He sought the mansion of Don Ramiro. He 
appi'oached the balcony beneath which he had 
bidden farewell to Serafina. Did his eyes deceive 
him ? No ! There was Serafina herself among 
the flowers in the balcony. He raised his arms 
toward her with an exclamation of rapture. She 
cast upon him a look of indignation, and, hastily 
retiring, closed the casement with a slam that 
testified lier displeasure. 

Could she have heard of his flirtation with the 
alcayde's daughter ? But that was mere transient 
gallantry. A moment's interview would dispel 
every doubt of his constancy. 

He rang at the door ; as it was opened by the 
porter he ruslied up-stairs ; sought the well-known 
chamber, and threw himself at the feet of Serafina. 
She started back with affright, and took refuge in 
the arms of a youthful cavalier. 

" What mean you, Senor," cried the latter, " by 
this intrusion ? " 

" What right have you to ask the question ? " 
demanded Don Fernando fiercely. 



406 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

" Tlie right of an affianced suitor ! " 

Don Fernando started and turned pale. " Oh, 
Sei'afina ! Serafina ! " cried he, in a tone of agony ; 
" is this thy plighted constancy ? " 

" Serafina ? What mean you by Serafina, 
Sefior ? If this be the lady you intend, her 
name is Maria." 

" May I not believe my senses ? May I not 
believe my heart ? " cried Don Fernando. " Is not 
this Serafina Alvarez, the original of yon portrait, 
which, less fickle than herself, still smiles on me 
from the wall ? " 

" Holy Virgin ! " cried the young lady, casting 
her eyes upon the portrait. " He is talking of 
my great-grandmother ! " 

An explanation ensued, if that could be called 
an explanation which plunged the unfortunate 
Fernando into tenfold perplexity. If he might 
believe his eyes, he saw before him his beloved 
Serafina ; if he might believe his ears, it was 
merely her hereditary form and features, perpetu- 
ated in the person of her great-granddaughter. 

His brain began to spin. He sought the office 
of the Minister of Marine, and made a report of 
his expedition, and of the Island of the Seven 
Cities, which he had so fortunately discovered. 
Nobody knew anything of such an expedition, or 
such an island. He declared that he had under- 
taken the enterprise under a formal contract with 
the crown, and had received a regular commis- 
sion, constituting him Adalantado. This must be 
matter of record, and he insisted loudly, that the 
books of the department should be consulted. The 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 407 

wordy strife at leiigtli attracted the attention of 
an old gray-lieaded clerk, who sat perched on a 
high stool, at a high desk, with iron-rimmed spec- 
t;icles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, copying 
records into an enormous folio. He had wintered 
and summered in the depai'tment for a great part 
of a century, until he had almost grown to be a 
()iece of the desk at which he sat ; his memory 
was a mere index of official facts and documents, 
and his brain was little bettei' than red tape and 
j)ai*chment. After peering down for a time from 
his lofty perch, and ascei'taining the matter in 
controversy, he put his pen behind his ear, and 
descended. He remembered to have heard some- 
thing from his predecessor about an expedition of 
the kind in question, but then it had sailed during 
the reign of Dom loam II., and he had been dead 
at least a hundred years. To put the matter be- 
yond dispute, however, the archives of the Torre 
do Tombo, that sepulchre of old Portuguese doc- 
uments, were diligently searched, and a record 
was found of a contract between the crown and 
one Fernando de Ulmo, for the discovery of the 
Island of the Seven Cities, and of a commission 
secured to him as Adalantado of the country he 
might discover. 

" There !" cried Don Fernando, triumphantly, 
" there you have proof, before your own eyes, of 
what I have said. I am the Fernando de Ulmo 
specified in that record. I have discovered the 
Island of the Seven Cities, and am entitled to be 
Adalantado, according to contract." 

The story of Don Fernando had certainly, what 



408 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

is pronounced the best of historical foundation, 
documentary eviderjce ; but when a man, in the 
bloom of youth, talked of events that had taken 
place above a century prievously, as having hap- 
pened to himself, it is no wonder that he was set 
down for a madman. 

The old clerk looked at him from above and be- 
low his spectacles, shrugged his shoulders, stroked 
his chin, reascended his lofty stool, took the pen 
from behind his ears, and resumed his daily and 
eternal task, copying records into the fiftieth 
volume of a series of gigantic folios. The other 
clerks winked at each other shrewdly, and dis- 
persed to their several places, and poor Don Fer- 
nando, thus left to himself, flung out of the office, 
almost driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 

In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively 
repaired to the mansion of Alvarez, but it was 
barred against him. To break the delusion under 
which the youth apparently labored, and to con- 
vince him that the Serafina about whom he raved 
was really dead, he was conducted to her tomb. 
There she lay, a stately matron, cut out in alabas- 
ter ; and there lay her husband beside her ; a portly 
cavalier, in armor ; and there knelt, on each side, 
the effigies of a numerous progeny, proving that 
she had been a fruitful vine. Even the very mon- 
ument gave evidence of the lapse of time ; the 
hands of her husband, folded as if in prayer, had 
lost their fingers, and the face of the once lovely 
Serafina was without a nose. 

Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indigna- 
tion at beholding this monumental proof of the 



THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 40^ 

inconstancy of his mistress ; but who could expect 
a mistress to remain constant during a whole 
century of absence ? And what right had he to 
rail about constancy, after wliat had passed be- 
tween himself and the alcayde's daughter? The 
unfortunate cavalier perfoi-med one pious act of 
tender devotion ; he had the alabaster nose of 
Scrafina restored l)y a skilful statuary, and then 
tore himself from the tomb. 

He could now no longer doubt the fact that, 
somehow or other, he had skipped over a whole 
century, during the night he had spent at the 
Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was now as 
complete a stranger in his native city, as if he 
had never been there. A thousand times did 
he wish himself back to that wonderful island, 
fvith its antiquated banquet halls, where he had 
been so courteously received ; and now that the 
once young and beautifid Serafina was nothing 
but a great-grandmother in marble, with genera- 
tions of descendants, a thousand times would he 
recall the melting black eyes of the alcayde's 
daughter, who doubtless, like himself, was still 
flourishing in fresh juvenility, and breathe a 
secret Avish that he was seated by her side. 

He would at once have set on foot another ex- 
pedition, at his own expense, to cruise in search of 
the sainted island, but his means were exhausted. 
He endeavored to rouse others to the enterprise, 
setting forth the certainty of profitable results, of 
which his own experience furnished such un- 
questionable proof. Alas ! no one would give 
faith to his tale ; but looked upon it as the fever- 



410 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

ish dream of a shipwrecked man. He persisted I 
in his efforts ; liokliug forth in all places and all I 
companies, until he became an object of jest and 
jeer to the light-minded, who mistook his earnest 
enthusiasm for a proof of insanity ; and the very 
cliilh-en in the streets bantered him with the title 
of " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

Finding all efforts in vain, in his native city of 
Lisbon, he took shipping for the Canaries, as be- 
ing nearer the latitude of his former cruise, and 
inhabited by people given to nautical adventure. 
Here he found ready listenei-s to his story ; for the 
old pilots and mariners of those parts were notori- 
ous island-hunters, and devout believers in all the 
wonders of the seas. Indeed, one and all treated 
his adventure as a common occurrence, and turn- 
ing to each other, with a sagacious nod of the 
head, observed, " He has been at the Island of St. 
Brandan." 

They then went on to inform him of that great 
marvel and enigma of the ocean ; of its repeated 
appearance to tiie inhabitants of their islands ; and 
of the many but ineffectual expeditions that had 
been made in search of it. They took him to a 
promontory of the island of Palma, whence the 
shadowy St. Brandan had oftenest been descried, 
and they pointed out the very tract in the west 
where its mountains had been seen. 

Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. 
He had no longer a doubt that this mysterious 
and fugacious island must be the same with that 
of the Seven Cities ; and that some supernatural 
influence connected with it had opei-ated upon 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 411 

liimself, and made the events of a night occupy 
the space of a century. 

He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the isl- 
anders to another attempt at discovery ; they had 
given up the phantom island as indeed inaccessi- 
ble. Fernando, however, was not to be discour- 
aged. The idea wore itself deeper and deeper iu 
his mind, until it became the engrossing subject 
of his thougiits and object of his being. Every 
nKjrning he would repair to the promontory of 
Palma, and sit there throughout the livelong day, 
iu hopes of seeing the fairy mountains of St. 
Brandan peering above the horizon ; every even- 
ing he leturned to his home, a disappointed man, 
but ready to resume his post on the following 
morning. 

His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray 
in his ineffectual attempt ; and was at length 
found dead at his post. His grave is still shown 
in the island of Palma, and a cross is erected on 
the spot where he used to sit and look out upon 
the sea, in hopes of the reappearance of the phan- 
tom island. 

Note. — For various particulars concerning 
the Island of St. Brandan and the Island of the 
Seven Cities, those ancient problems of the ocean, 
the curious reader is referred to articles under 
those heads in the Appendix to the " Life of 
Columbus." 





RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

HAVE already given to the world some 
anecdotes of a summer's residence in the 
old Moorish palace of the Alhambra. 
It was a dreamy sojourn, during which I lived, 
as it were, in the midst of an Arabian tale, and 
shut my eyes as mucli as possible to everything 
that should call me back to every-day life. If 
there is any country in Europe where one can do 
so, it is among these magnificent but semi-barbaric 
ruins of poor, wild, legendary, romantic Spain. 
In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra, 
surrounded with the insignia of regal sway, and 
the vivid, though dilapidated traces of Oriental 
luxury, I was in the stronghold of Moorish story, 
where everything spoke of the palmy days of 
Granada when under the dominion of the crescent. 
Much of ihe literature of Spain turns npon the 
wars of the Moors and Christians, and consists of 
traditional ballads and tales or romances, about 
the " huenas andanzas''' and " grandes hechos'' the 
" lucky adventures," and " great exploits " of the 
warriors of yore. It is worthy of remark, that 
many of these lays which sing of prowess and 
magnanimity in war, and tenderness and iidelity 



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALU AM BRA. 413 

in love, relate as well to Moorish as to Spanish 
cavaliei'S. The lapse of peaceful centuries has 
extinguished the rancor of ancient hostih'ty ; and 
the warriors of Granada, once the objects of bigot 
detestation, are now often held up by Spanish 
poets as mirrors of chivalric virtue. 

None have been the theme of higher eulogy 
than the illustrious line of the Abencerrages, who 
in the proud days of Moslem domination were 
the soul of everything noble and chivalric. The 
veterans of the family sat in the royal council, 
and were foremost in devising heroic enterprises 
to carry dismay into the Christian territories ; and 
what the veterans devised the young men of the 
name were foremost to execute. In all adven- 
tures, enterprises, and hair-breadth hazards, the 
Abencerrages were sure to win the brightest lau- 
rels. In the tilt and tourney, in the riding at the 
ring., the daring bull-fight, and all other recrea- 
tions which bore an affinity to war, tlie Abencer- 
rages carried off the palm. None equalled them 
for splendor of nrray, for noble bearing, and glo- 
rious horsemanship. Their open-handed munifi- 
cence made them the idols of the people ; their 
magnanimity and perfect faith gained the admira- 
tion of the high-minded. Never did they decry 
the merits of a rival, nor betray the confidings of 
a friend ; and the word of an Abencerrage was a 
guaranty never to be doubted. 

And then their devotion to the fair ! Never 
did Moorish beauty consider the fame of her 
charms established, until she had an Abencerrage 
for a lover ; and never did an Abencerrage prove' 



414 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALII AM BRA. 

recreant to his vows. Lovely Granada ! City of 
delights ! Who ever bore the favors of thy dames 
more proudly on their casques, or championed 
them more gallantly in the chivalrous tilts of the 
Vivarambla ? Or who ever made thy moon-lit 
balconies, thy gardens of myrtles and roses, of 
oranges, citi-ons, and pomegranates, respond to 
more tender serenades ? 

Such were the fancies I used to conjure up as 
I sat in the beautiful hall of the Abencerrages, 
celebrated in the tragic story of that devoted race, 
where thirty-six of its bravest cavaliers were 
treacherously sacrified to appease the jealous fears 
of a tyi-ant. The fountain which once ran red 
with their blood, throws up a sparkling jet, and 
spreads a dewy freshness through the hall ; but a 
deep stain on the marble pavement is still pointed 
out as a sanguinary record of the massacre. The 
truth of the record has been called in question, 
but 1 regarded it with the same determined Itiith 
with which I contemplated the stains of Rizzio's 
blood on the floor of the palace of Holyrood. I 
thank no one for enlightening my credulity on 
points of poetical belief. It is like robbing the 
statue of Memnon of its mysterious music. Dis- 
pel historical illusions, and there is an end to half 
the charms of travelling. 

The hall of the Abencerrages is connected 
moreover with the recollection of one of the 
sweetest evenings and sweetest scenes 1 ever en- 
joyed in Spain. It was a beautiful summer even- 
ing, when the moon shone down into the Court 
of Lions, lighting up its sparkling fountain. I 



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALFJAMBRA. 415 

was seated with a few companions in tlie liall in 
question, listening to those traditional ballads and 
romances in which the Spaniards delight. They 
were sung to the accompaniment of the guitar, 
by one of the most gifted and fascinating beings 
that I ever met with even among the fascinating 
daugliters of Spain. She was young and beau- 
tiful, and light and ethereal, full of fire, and 
spirit, and pure enthusiasm. She wore the fanci- 
iid Andalusian dress, touched the guitar with 
speaking eloquence, improvised with wonderful 
facility ; and, as she became excited by her theme, 
or by the rapt attention of her auditors, would 
pour forth, in the richest and most melodious 
strains, a succession of couplets, full of striking 
description, or stirring narrative, and composed, 
as I was assured, at the moment. Most of these 
were suggested by the place, and related to the 
ancient gloi'ies of Grenada and the prowess of 
her chivalry. The Abencerrages were her favor- 
ite heroes ; she felt a woman's admiration of their 
gallant courtesy and high-souled honor; and it 
was touching and inspiring to hear the praises of 
that generous but devoted race chanted in this 
fated hall of their calamity, by the lips of Span- 
ish beauty. 

Among the subjects of which she treated, was 
a tale of Moslem honor and old-fashioned cour- 
tesy, w^hich made a strong impression on me. 
She disclaimed all merit of invention, however, 
and said she had merely dilated into verse a pop- 
ular tradition ; and, indeed, I have since found 
the main facts inserted at the end of Conde's 



41 G RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

'' Histoiy of the Domination of the Arabs," and the ; 
story itself embodied in the form of an episode in J 
the " Diana " of Montemayor. From these sources ; 
I have drawn it forth, and endeavored to shape it 
according to my recollection of the version of the 
beautiful minstrel ; but alas ! what can supply 
the want of that voice, that look, that form, that 
action, which gave magical effect to her chant, 
and held every one rapt in breathless admiration ! 
Should this mere travestie of her inspired num- 
bers ever meet her eye, in her stately abode at 
Grenada, may it meet with that indulgence which 
belongs to her benignant nature. Happy should 
I be, if it could awaken in her bosom one kind 
recollection of the stranger, for whose gratifica- 
lion she did not think it beneath her to exert 
those fascinating powers, in the moon-lit halls of 
the Alhambra. 



THE ABENCERRAGE 

On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the 
mountains of Ronda, stands the castle of Allora ; 
now a mere ruin, infested by bats and owlets ; 
but in old times, a strong border-hold which kept 
watch upon the warlike kingdom of Granada, and 
held the Moors in check. It was a post always 
confided to some well-tried commander, and at the 
time of which we treat was held by Roderigo de 
Narvaez, alcayde, or military governor of Anti- 
quera. It was a frontier post of his command ; 
but he passed most of his time there, because its 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 417 

situation on the borders gave frequent opportunity 
for tliose adventurous exploits in whicli the Span- 
ish cliivahy delighted. 

He was a veteran, famed among both Moors 
and Christians, not only for deeds of arms, but 
for that magnanimous courtesy which should ever 
be entwined with the stern virtues of the soldier. 

His garrison consisted of fifty chosen men, 
well appointed arul well mounted, with which he 
maintained such vigilant watch that nothing could 
escape his eye. While some remained on guard 
in the castle, he would sally forth with others, 
prowling about the highways, the paths and de- 
files of the mountains by day and night, and now 
and then making* a daring foray into the very 
Vega of Grenada. 

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when 
the moon was in the full, and the freshness of 
the evening breeze had tempered the heat of 
day, the alcayde, with nine of his cavaliers, was 
going the rounds of the mountains in quest of 
adventures. They rode silently and cautiously, 
for it was a night to tempt others abroad, and 
they might be overheard by Moorish scout or 
traveller ; they kept along mvines and hollow 
ways, moreover, lest they should be betrayed by 
the glittering of the moon upon their armor. 
Coming to a fork in the road, the alcayde ordered 
live of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, 
while he, with the remaining four, would take 
the other. Should either party be in danger, the 
blast of a horn was to be the signal for succor. 
The party of five had not proceeded far, when, iu 
27 



418 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

passing through a defile, they heard the voice of 
a man singing. Concealing themselves among 
trees, they awaited his approach. The moon, 
which left the grove in shadow, slione fidl upon 
his pei'son, as he slowly advanced, mounted on a 
dapple gi-ay steed of powerful frame and gener- 
ous spirit, atid magnificently caparisoned. He was 
a Moorish cavalier of noble demeanor and grace- 
ful can-iage, arrayed in a marlota, or tunic, and 
an albornoz of crimson damask fringed with gold. 
His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of striped 
silk and cotton, bordered with a golden fringe ; 
at his gii'dle hung a Damascus scimitar, with loops 
and tassels of silk and gold. On his left arm he 
bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped 
a long double-pointed lance. Apparently dream- 
ing of no danger, he sat negligently on his steed, 
gazing on the moon, and singing, with a sweet 
and manly voice, a Moorish love-ditty. 

Just opposite the grove where the cavaliers 
were concealed, the horse turned aside to drink 
at a small fountain in a rock beside the road. 
His rider threw the reins on liis neck to let him 
drink at his ease, and continued his song. 

The cavaliers whispered with each other. 
Charmed with the gallant and gentle appearance 
of the Moor, they determined not to harm, but 
capture him ; an easy task, as they supposed, in 
his negligent mood. Rushing forth, therefore, 
they thought to surround, and take him by sur- 
prise. Never were men more mistaken. To 
gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace 
his buckler, and couch his lance, was the work of 



• Till': ABK\CEltRAGE. 419 

an instant, and tliere he sat, fixed like a castle in 
his saddle. 

The cavaliers checked their steeds, and recon- 
noitred him warily, loath to come to an encounter 
which must prove fatal to him. 

The Moor now held a parley. " If ye be true 
knights, and seek for honorable fame, come on 
singly, and I will meet each in succession ; if ye 
be mere lurkers of the road, intent on spoil, com(; 
all at once, and do your worst." 

The cavaliers communed together for a mo- 
ment, when one, parting from the others, advanced. 
" Although no law of chivalry," said he, " obliges 
us to risk the loss of a prize, when fairly in our 
power, yet we willingly grant as a courtesy what 
Ave might refuse as a right. Valiant Moor, de- 
fend thyself!" 

xSo saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, 
couched his lance, and putting spurs to his horse, 
made at the stranger. The latter met him in 
nn'd career, transpierced him with his lance, and 
threw him from his saddle. A second and a third 
succeeded, but were unhorsed with equal facility, 
and thrown to the earth, severely wounded. The 
remaining two, seeing their comrades thus roughly 
tieated, forgot all compact of courtesy, and charged 
both at once upon the Moor. He parried the 
thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in 
the thigh, and in the shock and confusion dropped 
his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pi'essed, he 
pretended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Hav- 
ing drawn the two cavaliers sonje distance from 
the spot, he wheeled short about, with one of 



420 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

those dexterous movements for wliicli the Moor- 
ish horsemen were renowned ; passed swiftly be- 
tween them, swung himself down from his saddle, 
so as to catch up his lance, then, lightly replacing 
himself, turned to renew the combat. 

Seeing iiim thus fresh for the encounter, as if 
just issued from his tent, one of the cavaliers put 
his lips to his horn, and blew a blast, that soon 
brought the alcayde and his four companions to 
the spot. 

.Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended 
on the earth, and two others hotly engaged with 
the Moor, was struck with adnu'ration, and coveted 
a contest with so accomplished a warrior. Inter- 
fering in the fight, he called upon his followers to 
desist, and with courteous words invited the Moor 
to a more equal combat. The challenge was read- 
ily accepted. For some time the contest was 
doubtful, and the alcayde had need of all his 
skill and strength to ward oflf' the blows of his 
antagonist. The Moor, however, exhausted by 
previous fighting, and by loss of blood, no longer 
sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his 
wonted skill. Collecting all his strength for a 
last assault, he rose in his stirrups, and made a 
violent thrust with his lance ; the alcayde re- 
ceived it upon his shield, and at the same time 
wounded the Moor in the riglit arm ; then closing, 
in the shock, grasped him in his arms, dragged 
him from his saddle, and fell with him to the 
earth ; when putting his knee upon his breast, 
and his dagger to his throat, " Cavalier," exclaimed 
he, " render thyself my prisoner, foi- thy life is in 
my hands ! " 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 421 

" Kill me, nither," replied the Moor, " for death 
would be less grievous than loss of liberty." 

The alcayde, however, witli tlie clemency of 
the truly brave, assisted him to rise, ministered 
to his wounds with his own hands, and had him 
conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. 
His wounds in a few days were nearly cured ; 
but the deepest had been inflicted on his spirit. 
He was constantly buried in a profound melan- 
choly. 

The alcayde, who had conceived a great re- 
gard for him, treated him more as a friend than 
a captive, and tried in every way to cheer him, 
but in vain ; he was always sad and moody, and, 
when on the battlements of the castle, would keep 
his eyes turned to the south, with a fixed and 
wistful gaze. 

" How is this ? " exclaimed the alcayde, re- 
proachfully, " that you, who were so hardy and 
fearless in the field, should lose all spirit when a 
captive. If any secret grief preys on your heart, 
confide it to me, as to a friend, and I promise on 
the faith of a cavalier that you shall have no 
cause to repent the disclosure." 

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the 
alcayde. " Noble cavalier," said he, " that I am 
cast down in spirit, is not from my wounds, which 
are slight, nor from my captivity, for your kind- 
ness has robbed it of all gloom ; nor from my 
defeat, for to be conquered by so accomplished 
and renowned a cavalier, is no disgrace. But to 
explain the cause of my grief, it is necessary to 
give some particulars of my story ; and this I 



422 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

am moved to do by the sympatliy you have mani- 
fested towards me, and the magnanimity that 
shines through all your actions. 

" Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, 
and that I am of the noble but unfortunate line 
of the Abencerrages. You have doubtless heard 
of the destruction that fell upon our race. Charged 
with treasonable designs, of which they were en- 
tirely innocent, many of them were beheaded, the 
rest banished ; so that not an Abencerrage was 
permitted to remain in Granada, excepting my 
father and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, 
even to the satisfaction of their persecutors. It 
was decreed, however, that, should they have chil- 
dren, the sons should be educated at a distance 
from Granada, and the daughters should be mar- 
ried out of the kingdom. 

" Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while 
yet an infant, to be reared in the fortress of Car- 
tama, the alcayde of which was an ancient friend 
of my father. He had no children, and received 
me into his family as his own child, treating me 
with the kindness and affection of a father ; and 
1 grew up in the belief that he really was 8uch. 
A few years afterward, his wife gave birth to a 
daughter, but his tenderness toward me continued 
undiminished. I thus grew up with Xarisa, for 
so the infant daughter of the alcayde was called, 
as her own brother. 1 beheld her charms unfold- 
ing, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, 
each moment disclosing fresh sweetness and beauty, 
and thought the growing passion which I felt for 
her was mere fraternal affection. 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 423 

" At length one day I accidentally overheard a 
conver.sation between the aloayde and hi- conii- 
dential domestic, of wliicli I found myself the 
subject. 

" In this I learnt the secret of my real parent- 
age, which the alcayde had withheld from me as 
long as possible, through reluctance to inform me 
of my being of a proscribed and unlucky race. 
It was time now, he thought, to apprise me of the 
truth, that I might adopt a career in life. 

" I retired without letting it be peiceived that 
I had overheard the conversation. The intelli- 
gence it conveyed would have overwhelmed me 
at an earlier period ; but now the intimation that 
Xarisa was not my sister, operated like magic. 
In an instant tiie brotherly affection with which 
my heart at times had throbbed almost to excess, 
was transformed into ardent love. 

'' I sought Xarisa in the garden, where I found 
her in a bower of jessamines, arranging her beau- 
tiful hair in the mii-ror of a crystal fountain. I 
ran to her wnth open arms, and was received with 
a sister's embraces ; upbraiding me for leaving 
her so long alone. 

•' We seated ourselves by the fountain, and I 
hastened to reveal the secret conversation I had 
overheard. 

" ' Alas ! ' cried she, ' then our happiness is at 
an end ! ' 

" ' How ! ' cried I, ' wilt thou cease to love 
me because I am not thy brother ? ' 

" ' Alas, no ! ' replied she, gently withdrawing 
from my embrace, ' but when it is once made 



424 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

known we are not brothei* and sister, we shall no 
longer be permitted to be thus always together.' 

•' In fact, from that moment our intercourse 
took a new character. We met often at the foun- 
tain among the jessamines, but Xarisa no longer 
advanced with open arms to meet me. She be- 
came reserved and silent, and would blush, and 
cast down her eyes, when I seated myself beside 
her. My heart became a prey to the thousand 
doubts and fears that ever attend upon true love. 
Restless and uneasy, I looked back with regiet 
to our unreserved intercourse when we supposed 
ourselves brother and sister ; yet I would not 
have had the relationship true, for the world. 

" While matters were in this state between us, 
an order came from the King of Granada for the 
alcayde to take command of the fortress of Coyn, 
on the Christian frontier. He prepared to remove, 
with all his family, but signified that I should re- 
main at Cartama. I declared that I could not be 
parted from Xarisa. ' That is the very cause,' 
said he, ' why I leave thee behind. It is time, 
Abendaraez, thou shouldst know the secret of thy 
birth. Thou art no son of mine, neither is Xarisa 
thy sister.' ' I know it all,' exclaimed I, ' and I 
love her with tenfold the affection of a brother. 
You have brought us up together ; you have 
made us necessary to each other's happiness ; our 
hearts have entwined themselves with our growth ; 
do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the 
measure of your kindness ; be indeed a father to 
me, by giving me Xarisa for my wife.' 

" The brow of tlie alcayde darkened as I spoke. 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 425 

Hiive T tlieu been deceived ? ' said he. ' Have 
those nurtured in my very bosom been conspiring 
against me ? Is this your return for my paternal 
tenderness ? — to beguile the affections of my 
child, and teach her to deceive her father? It 
would have been cause enough to refuse thee the 
hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a pro- 
scribed race, who can never approach the walls of 
Granada ; this, however, I might have passed over; 
but never will I give my daughter to a man who 
has endeavored to win her from me by decep- 
tion.' 

"All my attempts to vindicate myself and 
Xarisa were unavailing. I retired in anguish 
from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told her 
of this blow, which was worse than death to me. 
' Xarisa,' said I, ' we part forever ! I shall never 
see thee more ! Thy ftxther will guard thee rigidly. 
Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract some 
happier rival, and I shall be forgotten ! ' 

" Xarisa reproached my want of faith, and 
promised eternal constancy. I still doubted and 
desponded, until, moved by my anguish and de- 
spair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals 
made, we parted, with a promise on her part to 
send me word from Coyn, should her father absent 
himself from the fortress. The very day after our 
secret nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the 
alcayde depart from Cartama, nor would he ad- 
mit me to his presence, nor permit me to bid fare- 
well to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat 
pacified in spirit by our secret bond of union ; but 
everything around fed my passion, and reminded 



42 G RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

me of Xarisa. I saw the window al which I had 
so often beheld her. I wandered through tlie 
apartment she had inhabited ; the chamber in 
which she had slept. I visited the bower of jes- 
samines, and lingered beside the fountain in which 
she had delighted. Everything recalled her to 
my imagination, and filled my heart with melan- 
choly. 

" At length a confidential servant arrived with a 
letter from her, informing me that her father was 
to depart that day for Granada, on a short absence, 
inviting me to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret 
portal at which 1 shonld apply, and the signal by 
which I would obtain admittance. 

" If ever you have loved, most valiant alcayde, 
you may judge of my transport. That very night 
I arrayed myself in gallant attire, to pay due honor 
to my bride, and arming myself against any casual 
attack, issued forth privately from Cartama. You 
know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I 
find myself instead of a happy bridegroom in the 
nuptial bower of Coyn, vanquished, wounded, and 
a prisoner within the walls of Allora. The term 
of absence of the father of Xarisa is nearly ex- 
pired. Within three days he will return to Coyn, 
and our meeting will no longer be possible. Judge, 
then, whether I grieve without cause and whether 
I may not well be excused for showing impatience 
under confinement." 

Don Rodrigo was greatly moved by this recital ; 
for, though more used to rugged war than scenes 
of amorous softness, he was of a kind and gen- 
erous nature. 



niE A B EN C ERR AGE. 427 

** Abendaraez," said he, " I did not seek thy 
confidence to gratify an idle curiosity. It grieves 
me much that the good fortune wliich delivered 
thee into my hands, should have marred so fair 
an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, 
to return prisoner to my castle, within three days, 
and I will grant thee permission to accomplish thy 
nuptials." 

The Abencerrage, in a transport of gratitude, 
would have thrown himself at his feet, but the 
alcayde prevented him. Calling in his cavaliers, 
he took Abendaraez by the right hand, in their 
presen(;e, exclaiming solemnly, "You promise, on 
the i'aith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of 
Allora within three days, and render yourself 
my prisoner ? " And the Abencerrage said, " I 
promise." 

Then said the alcayde, " Go ! and may good 
fortune attend you. If you require any safe- 
guard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be your 
companions." 

The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the al- 
cayde, in grateful acknowledgment. " Give me," 
said he, " my own armor and my steed, and I re- 
quire no guard. It is not likely that I shall again 
meet with so valorous a foe." 

The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp 
of the dapple-gray steed resounded over the draw- 
bridge, and immediately afterwards, the light clat- 
ter of hoofs along the road bespoke the fleetness 
with wdii(th the youthful lover liastened to his 
bride. It was deep night when the Moor arrived 
at the castle of Coyu. He silently and cautiously 



428 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

walked his panting steed under its dark walls, and 
having nearly passed round them, came to the 
portal denoted by Xarisa. He paused, looked 
round to see that he was not observed, and 
knocked three times with the butt of his lance. In 
a little while the portal was timidly unclosed by 
the duenna of Xarisa. " Alas ! Senor," said she, 
" what has detained you thus long? Every night 
have I watched for you ; and my lady is sick at 
heart with doubt and anxiety." 

The Abencerrage hung his lance and shield 
and scimitar against the wall, and followed the 
duenna, with silent steps, up a winding staircase, 
to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be tlie 
attempt to describe the raptures of that meeting. 
Time flew too swiftly, and the Abencerrage had 
nearly forgotten, until too late, his promise to re- 
turn a prisoner to the alcayde of Allora. The 
recollection of it came to him with a pang, and 
woke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw 
his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled 
sighs ; but her countenance brightened when she 
heard the cause. " Let not thy spirit be cast 
down," said she, throwing her white arms around 
him. " I have the keys of my father's treasures ; 
send ransom more than enough to satisfy the 
Christian, and remain with me." 

"No," said Abendaraez, "I have given my 
word to return in person, and like a true knight, 
must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune must 
do with me as it pleases." 

" Then," said Xarisa, " I will accompany thee. 
Never shalt thou return a prisoner, and I remain 
at liberty." 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 429 

The Abencerrage was transported with joy at 
this new proof of devotion in his beautiful bride. 
All preparations were speedily made for their de- 
parture. Xarisa mounted behind tlie INIoor, on 
his powerful steed ; they left the castle walls be- 
fore daybreak, nor did they pause, until they 
arrived at the gate of the castle of Allora. 

Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage sup- 
ported the steps of his trembling bride, who re- 
mained closely veiled, into the presence of Rodrigo 
de Narvaez. " Behold, valiant Alcayde ! " said he, 
" the way in which an Abencerrage keeps his word. 
I pi'omised to return to thee a prisoner, but I de- 
liver two captives into thy power. Behold Xarisa, 
and judge whether I grieved without I'eason, over 
the loss of such a treasure. Receive us as thine 
own, for I confide my life and her honor to thy 
liands." 

The alcayde was lost in admiration of the 
beauty of the lady, and the noble spirit of the 
Moor. " I know not," said he, " which of you 
surpasses the other ; but I know that my castle is 
graced and honored by your presence. Consider 
it your own, while you deign to reside with me." 

For several days the lovers remained at Allora, 
happy in each other's love, and in the friendship 
of the alcayde. The latter wrote a letter to the 
Moorish king of Granada, relating the whole event, 
extolling the valor and good faith of the Abencer- 
rage, and craving for him the royal countenance. 

The king was moved by the story, and pleased 
with an opportunity of showing attention to the 
wishes of a gallant and chivalrous enemy ; for 



430 RECGLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

though he had often siifFered from the prowess of 
Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, lie admired his heroic 
character. Calling the alcayde of Coyn into his 
presence, he gave him the letter to read. The 
alcayde turned pale and trembled with rage on 
the perusal. " Restrain thine anger," said the 
king ; '^ there is nothing that the alcayde of Allora 
could ask, that I would not grant, if in my power. 
Go thou to Allora ; pardon thy children ; take 
tluMu to thy home. I receive this Abencerrage 
into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap 
benefits upon you all." 

The kindling ire of the alcayde was suddenly 
appeased. He hastened to Allora, and folded his 
children to his bosom, who would have fallen at 
his feet. Rodrigo de Nai'vaez gave liberty to his 
prisoner without ransom, demanding merely a 
promise of his friendship. He accompanied the 
youthful couple and their father to Coyn, where 
their luiptials were celebrated with great rejoic- 
ings. When the festivities were over, Don Rod- 
rigo returned to his fortress of Allora. 

After his departure, the alcayde of Coyn ad- 
dressed his children : " To your hands," said he, 
" I confide the disposition of my wealth. One of 
the first things I charge you, is not to forget tlie 
ransom you owe to the alcayde of Allora. His 
magnanimity you can never repay, but you can 
prevent it from wronging him of his just dues. 
Give him, moreover, your entire friendship, for he 
merits it fully, though of a different faith." 

The Abencerrage thanked him for his proposi- 
tion, which so truly accorded with his own wishes. 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 481 

He took a laige sum of gold, and inclosed it in a 
rich coffer ; and, on his own part, sent six beautiful 
horses, superbly cM})arisoned ; with six shields and 
lances, mounted and embossed with gold. The 
beautiful Xarisa, at tiie same time, wrote a letter 
to the alcayde, filled witii expressions of grati- 
tude and friendship, and sent him a box of fragrant 
cypress-wood, containing linen of the finest qual- 
ity, for his person. The alcayde disposed of the 
present in a characteristic manner. The horses 
and armor he shared among the cavaliers Avho had 
accompanied him on the night of the skirmish. 
The box of cypress-wood and its contents he re- 
tained, for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa, and 
sent her, by the hands of the messenger, the sum 
of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to I'eceive 
it as a wedding-present. Tiiis courtesy and mag- 
nanimity raised the chai-acter of the alcayde 
Rodrigo de JSarvaez still higher in the estimation 
of the Moors, who extolled him as a perfect mir- 
ror of chivalric virtue ; and from that time for- 
ward, there was a continual exchange of good 
offices between them. 

Those who would read the foregoing story 
decked out with poetic grace in the pure Castilian^ 
let them seek it in the " Diana of Montemayor." 



THE END. 



1fl9 



.0' 





















-? "^ 



.-'^• 



^^>. v^ 






(P ^ 





.x^ 






^' 









, . -** .A 






' ,0- 



